The world as will and idea

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THE

ENGLISH AND FOREIGN

PHILOSOPHICAL LIBRARY.

THE

WOKLD AS WILL AND IDEA.

BY

ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER

VOLUME L
FOUR BOOKS,

THE

WORLD AS WILL AND IDEA.

AETHUR SCHOPENHAUER.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN BY
K. B. HALDANE, M.A.

AND

J. KEMP, M.A.

VOL. I.
CONTAINING FOUR BOOKS.

!Ob oicht Natur zuletzt sich doch ergrtinde?"— GOETHE.
SEVENTH EDITION.

LONDON
KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER & CO. L2

BROADWAY HOUSE. 68-74 CARTER LANE, E.C.

B

584272

7%« ri#/t/s of translation and of reproduction are reserved

Printed in Great Britain by Ballantyne, Hanson & Co.
at the Ballantyne Press, Edinburgh

CONTENTS.

FIRST BOOK.

run

The World as Idea— First Aspect. The Idea Subobdi- i

nated to the principle op sufficient reason: the
Object of Experience and Science ....

SECOND BOOK.

The World as Will— First Aspect. The Objeotifioation

of the Will 121

THIRD BOOK.

The World as Idea— Second Aspect. The Idea Indepen-
dent of the Principle of Sufficient Reason: the
Platonic Idea : the Object of Art . . . 217

FOURTH BOOK.

The World as Will— Second Aspect. After the Attain-
ment of Self-knowledge. Assertion and Denial of
the Will to Live 347

TEANSLATOES' PEEFACK

The style of " Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung " is
sometimes loose and involved, as is so often the case in
German philosophical treatises. The translation of the
book has consequently been a matter of no little diffi-
culty. It was found that extensive alteration of the
long and occasionally involved sentences, however likely
to prove conducive to a satisfactory English style, tended
not only to obliterate the form of the original but even
to imperil the meaning. Where a choice has had to be
made, the alternative of a somewhat slavish adherence to
Schopenhauer's ipsissima verba has accordingly been pre-
ferred to that of inaccuracy. The result is a piece of
work which leaves much to be desired, but which has
yet consistently sought to reproduce faithfully the spirit
as well as the letter of the original.

As regards the rendering of the technical terms about
which there has been so much controversy, the equiva-
lents used have only been adopted after careful consider-
ation of their meaning in the theory of knowledge. For
example, " Vorstellung " has been rendered by " idea," in
preference to " representation," which is neither accurate,
intelligible, nor elegant. "Idee," is translated by the

▼i TRANSLATORS' PREFACE.

same word, but spelled with a capital, — " Idea." Again,
" Anschauung " has been rendered according to the con-
text, either by " perception " simply, or by " intuition or
perception."

Notwithstanding statements to the contrary in the text,
the book is probably quite intelligible in itself, apart from
the treatise " On the Fourfold Boot of the Principle of
Sufficient Reason." It has, however, been considered
desirable to add an abstract of the latter work in an
appendix to the third volume of this translation.

RB.E
J. K.

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.

I propose to point out here how this book must be read
in order to be thoroughly understood. By means of it
I only intend to impart a single thought. Yet, notwith-
standing all my endeavours, I could find no shorter way
of imparting it than this whole book. I hold this thought
to be that which has very long been sought for under
the name of philosophy, and the discovery of which is
therefore regarded by those who are familiar with his-
tory as quite as impossible as the discovery of the philoso-
pher's stone, although it was already said by Pliny : Quam
multa fieri non posse, priusquam sint facta, judicantur ?
(Hist, nat 7, I.)

According as we consider the different aspects of this
one thought which I am about to impart, it exhibits
itself as that which we call metaphysics, that which we
call ethics, and that which we call aesthetics ; and cer-
tainly it must be all this if it is what I have already
acknowledged I take it to be.

A system of thought must always have an architectonic
connection or coherence, that is, a connection in which
one part always supports the other, though the latter
does not support the former, in which ultimately the
foundation supports all the rest without being supported
by it, and the apex is supported without supporting.
On the other hand, a single thought, however compre-

viii PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.

hensive it may be, must preserve the most perfect unity.
If it admits of being broken up into parts to facilitate
its communication, the connection of these parts must
yet be organic, i.e., it must be a connection in which
every part supports the whole just as much as it is
supported by it, a connection in which there is no first
and no last, in which the whole thought gains distinct-
ness through every part, and even the smallest part
cannot be completely understood unless the whole has
already been grasped. A book, however, must always
have a first and a last line, and in this respect will
always remain very unlike an organism, however like
one its content may be : thus form and matter are here
in contradiction.

It is self-evident that under these circumstances no
other advice can be given as to how one may enter into
the thought explained in this work than to read the book
twice, and the first time with great patience, a patience
which is only to be derived from the belief, voluntarily
accorded, that the beginning presupposes the end almost
as much as the end presupposes the beginning, and that
all the earlier parts presuppose the later almost as much
as the later presuppose the earlier. I say "almost;"
for this is by no means absolutely the case, and I have
honestly and conscientiously done all that was possible
to give priority to that which stands least in need of
explanation from what follows, as indeed generally to
everything that can help to make the thought as easy
to comprehend and as distinct as possible. This might
indeed to a certain extent be achieved if it were not that
the reader, as is very natural, thinks, as he reads, not
merely of what is actually said, but also of its possible
consequences, and thus besides the many contradictions

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. ix

actually given of the opinions of the time, and presum-
ably of the reader, there may be added as many more
which are anticipated and imaginary. That, then, which
is really only misunderstanding, must take the form of
active disapproval, and it is all the more difficult to
recognise that it is misunderstanding, because although
the laboriously-attained clearness of the explanation and
distinctness of the expression never leaves the immediate
sense of what is said doubtful, it cannot at the same
time express its relations to all that remains to be said.
Therefore, as we have said, the first perusal demands
patience, founded on confidence that on a second perusal
much, or all, will appear in an entirely different light.
Further, the earnest endeavour to be more completely
and even more easily comprehended in the case of a
very difficult subject, must justify occasional repetition.
Indeed the structure of the whole, which is organic, not
a mere chain, makes it necessary sometimes to touch on
the same point twice. Moreover this construction, and
the very close connection of all the parts, has not left
open to me the division into chapters and paragraphs
which I should otherwise have regarded as very im-
portant, but has obliged me to rest satisfied with four
principal divisions, as it were four aspects of one thought.
In each of these four books it is especially important to
guard against losing sight, in the details which must
necessarily be discussed, of the principal thought to
which they belong, and the progress of the whole exposi-
tion. I have thus expressed the first, and like those
which follow, unavoidable demand upon the reader, who
holds the philosopher in small favour just because he
himself is a philosopher.

The second demand is this, that the introduction be

x PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.

read before the book itself, although it is not contained
in the book, but appeared five years earlier under the
title, "Ueber die vierfache Wurzel des Satzes vom zurei-
chenden Grunde : eine philosophische Abhandlung " (On the
fourfold root of the principle of sufficient reason : a philo-
sophical essay). Without an acquaintance with this
introduction and propadeutic it is absolutely impossible
to understand the present work properly, and the content
of that essay will always be presupposed in this work
just as if it were given with it. Besides, even if it had
not preceded this book by several years, it would not
properly have been placed before it as an introduction,
but would have been incorporated in the first book. As
it is, the first book does not contain what was said in
the earlier essay, and it therefore exhibits a certain
incompleteness on account of these deficiencies, which
must always be supplied by reference to it. However,
my disinclination was so great either to quote myself or
laboriously to state again in other words what I had
already said once in an adequate manner, that I preferred
this course, notwithstanding the fact that I might now
be able to give the content of that essay a somewhat
better expression, chiefly by freeing it from several
conceptions which resulted from the excessive influence
which the Kantian philosophy had over me at the time,
such as — categories, outer and inner sense, and the like.
But even there these conceptions only occur because
as yet I had never really entered deeply into them, there-
fore only by the way and quite out of connection with
the principal matter. The correction of such passages in
that essay will consequently take place of its own accord
in the mind of the reader through his acquaintance with
the present work. But only if we have fully recognised

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. xi

by means of that essay what the principle of sufficient
reason is and signifies, what its validity extends to, and
what it does not extend to, and that that principle is not
before all things, and the whole world merely in con-
sequence of it, and in conformity to it, a corollary, as it
were, of it; but rather that it is merely the form in
which the object, of whatever kind it may be, which is
always conditioned by the subject, is invariably known
so far as the subject is a knowing individual : only then
will it be possible to enter into the method of philosophy
which is here attempted for the first time, and which is
completely different from all previous methods.

But the same disinclination to repeat myself word for
word, or to say the same thing a second time in other
and worse words, after I have deprived myself of the
better, has occasioned another defect in the first book of
this work. For I have omitted all that is said in the
first chapter of my essay " On Sight and Colour," which
would otherwise have found its place here, word for
word. Therefore the knowledge of this short, earlier
work is also presupposed.

Finally, the third demand I have to make on the
reader might indeed be tacitly assumed, for it is nothing
but an acquaintance with the most important j^enomenon
that has app^arejiin.-phUa30phx,l9X JjE2-fefi3S9SA-.jears,
and that lies so near us : I mean the principal writings
of KafitC *lt~ieems to me, in fact, as indeed has already
been said by others, that the effect these writings produce
in the mind to which they truly speak is very like that
of the operation for cataract on a blind man : and if we
wish to pursue the simile further, the aim of my own
work may be described by saying that I have sought to
put into the hands of those upon whom that operation

xii PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.

has been successfully performed a pair of spectacles
suitable to eyes that have recovered their sight — spectacles
of whose use that operation is the absolutely necessary
condition. Starting then, as I do to a large extent, from
what has been accomplished by the great Kant, I have
yet been enabled, just on account of my earnest study of
his writings, to discover important errors in them. These
I have been obliged to separate from the rest and prove
to be false, in order that I might be able to presuppose
and apply what is true and excellent in his doctrine,
pure and freed from error. But not to interrupt and
complicate my own exposition by a constant polemic
against Kant, I have relegated this to a special appendix.
It follows then, from what has been said, that my work
presupposes a knowledge of this appendix just as much
as it presupposes a knowledge of the philosophy of Kant ;
and in this respect it would therefore be advisable to
read the appendix first, all the more as its content is
specially related to the first book of the present work.
On the other hand, it could not be avoided, from the
nature of the case, that here and there the appendix also
should refer to the text of the work; and the only
result of this is, that the appendix, as well as the
principal part of the work, must be read twice.

The philosophy of Kant, then, is the only philosophy
with which a thorough acquaintance is directly presup-
posed in what we have to say here. But if, besides this,
the reader has lingered in the school of the divine Plato,
he will be so much the better prepared to hear me, and
susceptible to what I say. And if, indeed, in addition to
this he is a partaker of the benefit conferred by the
Vedas, the access to which, opened to us through the
Upanishads, is in my eyes the greatest advantage which

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION xiii

this still young century enjoys over previous ones, be-
cause I believe that the influence of the Sanscrit litera-
ture will penetrate not less deeply than did the revival
of Greek literature in the fifteenth century: if, I say,
the reader has also already received and assimilated the
sacred, primitive Indian wisdom, then is he best of all
prepared to hear what I have to say to him. My work
will not speak to him, as to many others, in a strange
and even hostile tongue ; for, if it does not sound too vain,
I might express the opinion that each one of the indi-
vidual and disconnected aphorisms which make up the
Upanishads may be deduced as a consequence from the
thought I am going to impart, though the converse, that
my thought is to be found in the Upanishads, is by no
means the case.

But most readers have already grown angry with im-
patience, and burst into reproaches with difficulty kept
back so long. How can I venture to present a book to
the public under conditions and demands the first two
of which are presumptuous and altogether immodest,
and this at a time when there is such a general wealth
of special ideas, that in Germany alone they are made
common property through the press, in three thousand
valuable, original, and absolutely indispensable works
every year, besides innumerable periodicals, and even
daily papers; at a time when especially there is not
the least deficiency of entirely original and profound
philosophers, but in Germany alone there are more of
them alive at the same time, than several centuries
could formerly boast of in succession to each other?
How is one ever to come to the end, asks the indignant
reader, if one must set to work upon a book in such a
fashion ?

xiv PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.

As I have absolutely nothing to advance against these
reproaches, I only hope for some small thanks from such
readers for having warned them in time, so that they may
not lose an hour over a book which it would be useless
to read without complying with the demands that have
been made, and which should therefore be left alone,
particularly as apart from this we might wager a great
deal that it can say nothing to them, but rather that it
will always be only pancorum hominum, and must there-
fore quietly and modestly wait for the few whose unusual
mode of thought may find it enjoyable. For apart from
the difficulties and the effort which it requires from the
reader, what cultured man of this age, whose knowledge
has almost reached the august point at which the paradoxi-
cal and the false are all one to it, could bear to meet thoughts
almost on every page that directly contradict that which
he has yet himself established once for all as true and
undeniable ? And then, how disagreeably disappointed
will many a one be if he finds no mention here of what
he believes it is precisely here he ought to look for, be-
cause his method of speculation agrees with that of a
great living philosopher,1 who has certainly written
pathetic books, and who only has the trifling weakness
that he takes all he learned and approved before his
fifteenth year for inborn ideas of the human mind. Who
could stand all this ? Therefore my advice is simply to
lay down the book.

But I fear I shall not escape even thus. The reader
who has got as far as the preface and been stopped by
it, has bought the book for cash, and asks how he is
to be indemnified. My last refuge is now to remind
him that he knows how to make use of a book in several

1 F. H. Jacobi

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. xv

ways, without exactly reading it. It may fill a gap in his
library as well as many another, where, neatly bound, it
will certainly look well. Or he can lay it on the toilet-
table or the tea-table of some learned lady friend. Or,
finally, what certainly is best of all, and I specially advise
it, he can review it.

And now that I have allowed myself the jest to
which in this two-sided life hardly any page can be too
serious to grant a place, I part with the book with deep
seriousness, in the sure hope that sooner or later it will
reach those to whom alone it can be addressed ; and for
the rest, patiently resigned that the same fate should, in
full measure, befall it, that in all ages has, to some
extent, befallen all knowledge, and especially the
weightiest knowledge of the truth, to which only a brief
triumph is allotted between the two long periods in
which it is condemned as paradoxical or disparaged as
trivial. The former fate is also wont to befall its author.
But life is short, and truth works far and lives long : let
us speak the truth.

Written at Dresden in August 1818.

PKEFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.

Not to my contemporaries, not to my compatriots — to
mankind I commit my now completed work in the con-
fidence that it will not be without value for them, even
if this should be late recognised, as is commonly the lot
of what is good. For it cannot have been for the passing
generation, engrossed with the delusion of the moment,
that my mind, almost against my will, has uninterruptedly
stuck to its work through the course of a long life. And
while the lapse of time has not been able to make me
doubt the worth of my work, neither has the lack of
sympathy ; for I constantly saw the false and the bad,
and finally the absurd and senseless,1 stand in universal
admiration and honour, and I bethought myself that if
it were not the case those who are capable of recognising
the genuine and right are so rare that we may look
for them in vain for some twenty years, then those who
are capable of producing it could not be so few that
their works afterwards form an exception to the perish-
ableness of earthly things ; and thus would be lost the
reviving prospect of posterity which every one who sets
before himself a high aim requires to strengthen him.

Whoever seriously takes up and pursues an object that
does not lead to material advantages, must not count on

1 The Hegelian Philosophy.

xviii PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.

the sympathy of his contemporaries. For the most part
he will see, however, that in the meantime the superficial
aspect of that object becomes current in the world, and
enjoys its day ; and this is as it should be. The object
itself must be pursued for its own sake, otherwise it
cannot be attained ; for any design or intention is always
dangerous to insight. Accordingly, as the whole history
of literature proves, everything of real value required a
long time to gain acceptance, especially if it belonged to
the class of instructive, not entertaining, works; and
meanwhile the false nourished. For to combine the
object with its superficial appearance is difficult, when it
is not impossible. Indeed that is just the curse of this
world of want and need, that everything must serve and
slave for these; and therefore it is not so constituted
that any noble and sublime effort, like the endeavour
after light and truth, can prosper unhindered and exist
for its own sake. But even if such an endeavour has
once succeeded in asserting itself, and the conception of
it has thus been introduced, material interests and per-
sonal aims will immediately take possession of it, in
order to make it their tool or their mask. Accordingly,
when Kant brought philosophy again into repute, it had
soon to become the tool of political aims from above, and
personal aims from below ; although, strictly speaking,
not philosophy itself, but its ghost, that passes for it
This should not really astonish us; for the incredibly
large majority of men are by nature quite incapable of
any but material aims, indeed they can conceive no
others. Thus the pursuit of truth alone is far too lofty
and eccentric an endeavour for us to expect all or many,
or indeed even a few, faithfully to take part in. If
yet we see, as for example at present in Germany, a

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. xix

remarkable activity, a general moving, writing, and talk-
ing with reference to philosophical subjects, we may
confidently assume that, in spite of solemn looks and
assurances, only real, not ideal aims, are the actual
primum mobile, the concealed motive of such a move-
ment ; that it is personal, official, ecclesiastical, political,
in short, material ends that are really kept in view, and
consequently that mere party ends set the pens of so many
pretended philosophers in such rapid motion. Thus some
design or intention, not the desire of insight, is the guiding
star of these disturbers of the peace, and truth is certainly
the last thing that is thought of in the matter. It finds
no partisans ; rather, it may pursue its way as silently
and unheeded through such a philosophical riot as
through the winter night of the darkest century bound
in the rigid faith of the church, when it was communicated
only to a few alchemists as esoteric learning, or entrusted
it may be only to the parchment. Indeed I might say
that no time can be more unfavourable to philosophy
than that in which it is shamefully misused, on the one
hand to further political objects, on the other as a means
of livelihood. Or is it believed that somehow, with such
effort and such a turmoil, the truth, at which it by no
means aims, will also be brought to light ? Truth is no
prostitute, that throws herself away upon those who do
not desire her ; she is rather so coy a beauty that he who
sacrifices everything to her cannot even then be sure of
her favour.

If Governments make philosophy a means of further-
ing political ends, learned men see in philosophical pro-
fessorships a trade that nourishes the outer man just like
any other ; therefore they crowd after them in the assur-
ance of their good intentions, that is, the purpose of sub-

xx PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.

serving these ends. And they keep their word: not
truth, not clearness, not Plato, not Aristotle, but the ends
they were appointed to serve are their guiding star, and
become at once the criterion of what is true, valuable,
and to be respected, and of the opposites of thesa What-
ever, therefore, does not answer these ends, even if it were
the most important and extraordinary things in their
department, is either condemned, or, when this seems
hazardous, suppressed by being unanimously ignored.
Look only at their zeal against pantheism ; will any sim-
pleton believe that it proceeds from conviction ? And, in
general, how is it possible that philosophy, degraded to
the position of a means of making one's bread, can fail
to degenerate into sophistry ? Just because this is in-
fallibly the case, and the rule, " I sing the song of him
whose bread I eat," has always held good, the making of
money by philosophy was regarded by the ancients as
the characteristic of the sophists. But we have still to
add this, that since throughout this world nothing is to
be expected, can be demanded, or is to be had for gold
but mediocrity, we must be contented with it here also.
Consequently we see in all the German universities the
cherished mediocrity striving to produce the philosophy
which as yet is not there to produce, at its own expense
and indeed in accordance with a predetermined standard
and aim, a spectacle at which it would be almost cruel
to mock.

While thus philosophy has long been obliged to serve
entirely as a means to public ends on the one side and
private ends on the other, I have pursued the course of
my thought, undisturbed by them, for more than thirty
years, and simply because I was obliged to do so and
could not help myself, from an instinctive impulse, which

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. xxi

was, however, supported by the confidence that anything
true one may have thought, and anything obscure one
may have thrown light upon, will appeal to any think-
ing mind, no matter when it comprehends it, and will
rejoice and comfort it. To such an one we speak as
those who are like us have spoken to us, and have so
become our comfort in the wilderness of this life. Mean-
while the object is pursued on its own account and for its
own sake. Now it happens curiously enough with philo-
sophical meditations, that precisely that which one has
thought out and investigated for oneself, is afterwards of
benefit to others ; not that, however, which was originally
intended for others. The former is confessedly nearest
in character to perfect honesty ; for a man does not seek
to deceive himself, nor does he offer himself empty husks;
so that all sophistication and all mere talk is omitted,
and consequently every sentence that is written at once
repays the trouble of reading it. Thus my writings bear
the stamp of honesty and openness so distinctly on the
face of them, that by this alone they are a glaring con-
trast to those of three celebrated sophists of the post-
Kantian period. I am always to be found at the stand-
point of reflection, i.e., rational deliberation and honest
statement, never at that of inspiration, called intellectual
intuition, or absolute thought ; though, if it received its
proper name, it would be called empty bombast and char-
latanism. Working then in this spirit, and always see-
ing the false and bad in universal acceptance, yea, bom-
bast1 and charlatanism2 in the highest honour, I have
long renounced the approbation of my contemporaries. It
is impossible that an age which for twenty years has
applauded a Hegel, that intellectual Caliban, as the

1 Fichte and Schelling. 3 Hegel.

xxii PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.

greatest of the philosophers, so loudly that it echoes
through the whole of Europe, could make him who has
looked on at that desirous of its approbation. It has no
more crowns of honour to bestow ; its applause is pros-
tituted, and its censure has no significance. That I mean
what I say is attested by the fact that if I had in any
way sought the approbation of my contemporaries, I
would have had to strike out a score of passages which
entirely contradict all their opinions, and indeed must in
part be offensive to them. But I would count it a crime
to sacrifice a single syllable to that approbation. My
guiding star has, in all seriousness, been truth. Following
it, I could first aspire only to my own approbation, entirely
averted from an age deeply degraded as regards all higher
intellectual efforts, and a national literature demoralised
even to the exceptions, a literature in which the ait of
combining lofty words with paltry significance has reached
its height. I can certainly never escape from the errors
and weaknesses which, in my case as in every one else's,
necessarily belong to my nature ; but I will not increase
them by unworthy accommodations.

As regards this second edition, first of all I am glad
to say that after five and twenty years I find nothing to
retract; so that my fundamental convictions have only
been confirmed, as far as concerns myself at least. The
alterations in the first volume therefore, which contains
the whole text of the first edition, nowhere touch what
is essential. Sometimes they concern things of merely
secondary importance, and more often consist of very
short explanatory additions inserted here and thera
Only the criticism of the Kantian philosophy has re-
ceived important corrections and large additions, for these
could not be put into a supplementary book, such as

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. xxiii

those which are given in the second volume, and which
correspond to each of the four books that contain the
exposition of my own doctrine. In the case of the latter,
I have chosen this form of enlarging and improving them,
because the five and twenty years that have passed since
they were composed have produced so marked a change
in my method of exposition and in my style, that it would
not have done to combine the content of the second volume
with that of the first, as both must have suffered by the
fusion. I therefore give both works separately, and in
the earlier exposition, even in many places where I would
now express myself quite differently, I have changed
nothing, because I desired to guard against spoiling the
work of my earlier years through the carping criticism of
age. What in this regard might need correction will
correct itself in the mind of the reader with the help of
the second volume. Both volumes have, in the full sense
of the word, a supplementary relation to each other, so far
as this rests on the fact that one age of human life is,
intellectually, the supplement of another. It will there-
fore be found, not only that each volume contains what
the other lacks, but that the merits of the one consist
peculiarly in that which is wanting in the other. Thus,
if the first half of my work surpasses the second in what
can only be supplied by the fire of youth and the energy
of first conceptions, the second will surpass the first by
the ripeness and complete elaboration of the thought
which can only belong to the fruit of the labour of a long
life. For when I had the strength originally to grasp
the fundamental thought of my system, to follow it at
once into its four branches, to return from them to the
unity of their origin, and then to explain the whole dis-
tinctly, I could not yet be in a position to work out all

xxiv PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.

the branches of the system with the fulness, thorough-
ness, and elaborateness which is only reached by the
meditation of many years — meditation which is required
to test and illustrate the system by innumerable facts, to
support it by the most different kinds of proof, to throw
light on it from all sides, and then to place the different
points of view boldly in contrast, to separate thoroughly
the multifarious materials, and present them in a well-
arranged whole. Therefore, although it would, no doubt,
have been more agreeable to the reader to have my whole
work in one piece, instead of consisting, as it now does,
of two halves, which must be combined in using them, he
must reflect that this would have demanded that I should
accomplish at one period of life what it is only possible
to accomplish in two, for I would have had to possess
the qualities at one period of life that nature has divided
between two quite different ones. Hence the necessity
of presenting my work in two halves supplementary to
each other may be compared to the necessity in conse-
quence of which a chromatic object-glass, which cannot
be made out of one piece, is produced by joining together
a convex lens of flint glass and a concave lens of crown
glass, the combined effect of which is what was sought.
Yet, on the other hand, the reader will find some com-
pensation for the inconvenience of using two volumes at
once, in the variety and the relief which is afforded by
the handling of the same subject, by the same mind, in
the same spirit, but in very different years. However, it
is very advisable that those who are not yet acquainted
with my philosophy should first of all read the first
volume without using the supplementary books, and
should make use of these only on a second perusal;
otherwise it would be too difficult for them to grasp the

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. xxv

system in its connection. For it is only thus explained
in the first volume, while the second is devoted to a more
detailed investigation and a complete development of the
individual doctrines. Even those who should not make
up their minds to a second reading of the first volume had
hetter not read the second volume till after the first, and
then for itself, in the ordinary sequence of its chapters,
which, at any rate, stand in some kind of connection,
though a somewhat looser one, the gaps of which they
will fully supply by the recollection of the first volume,
if they have thoroughly comprehended it. Besides, they
will find everywhere the reference to the corresponding
passages of the first volume, the paragraphs of which I
have numbered in the second edition for this purpose,
though in the first edition they were only divided by
lines.

I have already explained in the preface to the first
edition, that my philosophy is founded on that of Kant,
and therefore presupposes a thorough knowledge of it.
I repeat this here. For Kant's teaching produces in the
mind of every one who has comprehended it a funda-
mental change which is so great that it may be regarded
as an intellectual new-birth. It alone is able really to
remove the inborn realism which proceeds from the
original character of the intellect, which neither Berkeley
nor Malebranche succeed in doing, for they remain too
much in the universal, while Kant goes into the parti-
cular, and indeed in a way that is quite unexampled
both before and after him, and which has quite a peculiar,
and, we might say, immediate effect upon the mind in
consequence of which it undergoes a complete undecep-
tion, and forthwith looks at all things in another light.
Only in this way can any one become susceptible to the

xxvi PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.

more positive expositions which I have to give. On the
other hand, he who has not mastered the Kantian philo-
sophy, whatever else he may have studied, is, as it were,
in a state of innocence ; that is to say, he remains in the
grasp of that natural and childish realism in which we
are all born, and which fits us for everything possible,
with the single exception of philosophy. Such a man
then stands to the man who knows the Kantian philo-
sophy as a minor to a man of full age. That this truth
should nowadays sound paradoxical, which would not
have been the case in the first thirty years after the
appearance of the Critique of Reason, is due to the fact
that a generation has grown up that does not know Kant
properly, because it has never heard more of him than a
hasty, impatient lecture, or an account at second-hand ;
and this again is due to the fact that in consequence of
bad guidance, this generation has wasted its time with
the philosophemes of vulgar, uncalled men, or even
of bombastic sophists, which are unwarrantably com-
mended to it. Hence the confusion of fundamental
conceptions, and in general the unspeakable crudeness
and awkwardness that appears from under the covering
of affectation and pretentiousness in the philosophical
attempts of the generation thus brought up. But who-
ever thinks he can learn Kant's philosophy from the ex-
position of others makes a terrible mistake. Nay, rather
I must earnestly warn against such accounts, especially
the more recent ones ; and indeed in the years just past
I have met with expositions of the Kantian philosophy
in the writings of the Hegelians which actually reach the
incredible. How should the minds that in the freshness
of youth have been strained and ruined by the nonsense
of Hegelism, be still capable of following Kant's profound

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. xxvii

investigations ? They are early accustomed to take the
hollowest jingle of words for philosophical thoughts, the
most miserable sophisms for acuteness, and silly conceits
for dialectic, and their minds are disorganised through
the admission of mad combinations of words to which
the mind torments and exhausts itself in vain to attach
some thought. No Critique of Eeason can avail them, no
philosophy, they need a medicina mentis, first as a sort of
purgative, un petit cours de senscommunologie, and then one
must further see whether, in their case, there can even
be any talk of philosophy. The Kantian doctrine then
will be sought for in vain anywhere else but in Kant's
own works ; but these are throughout instructive, even
where he errs, even where he fails. In consequence of
his originality, it holds good of him in the highest degree,
as indeed of all true philosophers, that one can only
come to know them from their own works, not from the
accounts of others. For the thoughts of any .extraordi-
nary intellect cannot stand being filtered through the
vulgar mind. Born behind the broad, high, finely-arched
brow, from under which shine beaming eyes, they lose
all power and life, and appear no longer like themselves,
when removed to the narrow lodging and low roofing of
the confined, contracted, thick-walled skull from which
dull glances steal directed to personal ends. Indeed we
may say that minds of this kind act like an uneven glass,
in which everything is twisted and distorted, loses the
regularity of its beauty, and becomes a caricature. Only
from their authors themselves can we receive philoso-
phical thoughts ; therefore whoever feels himself drawn
to philosophy must himself seek out its immortal teachers
in the still sanctuary of their works. The principal
chapters of any one of these true philosophers will afford

xxviii PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.

a thousand times more insight into their doctrines than
the heavy and distorted accounts of them that everyday
men produce, who are still for the most part deeply en-
tangled in the fashionable philosophy of the time, or in
the sentiments of their own minds. But it is astonish-
ing how decidedly the public seizes by preference on
these expositions at second-hand. It seems really as if
elective affinities were at work here, by virtue of which
the common nature is drawn to its like, and therefore will
rather hear what a great man has said from one of its
own kind. Perhaps this rests on the same principle as
that of mutual instruction, according to which children
learn best from children.

One word more for the professors of philosophy. I
have always been compelled to admire not merely the
sagacity, the true and fine tact with which, immediately
on its appearance, they recognised my philosophy as
something altogether different from and indeed dangerous
to their own attempts, or, in popular language, something
that would not suit their turn ; but also the sure and
astute policy by virtue of which they at once discovered
the proper procedure with regard to it, the complete har-
mony with which they applied it, and the persistency
with which they have remained faithful to it. This pro-
cedure, which further commended itself by the great ease
of carrying it out, consists, as is well known, in altogether
ignoring and thus in secreting — according to Goethe's
malicious phrase, which just means the appropriating of
what is of weight and significance. The efficiency of
this quiet means is increased by the corybantic shouts
with which those who are at one reciprocally greet the
birth of their own spiritual children— shouts which com-

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. xxix

pel the public to look and note the air of importance
with which they congratulate themselves on the event.
Who can mistake the object of such proceedings ? Is
there then nothing to oppose to the maxim, primum
vivere, delude phUosophari t These gentlemen desire to
live, and indeed to live by philosophy. To philosophy
they are assigned with their wives and children, and in
spite of Petrarch's povera e nuda vai filosofia, they have
staked everything upon it. Now my philosophy is by
no means so constituted that any one can live by it. It
lacks the first indispensable requisite of a well-paid pro-
fessional philosophy, a speculative theology, which — in
spite of the troublesome Kant with his Critique of Eeason

should and must, it is supposed, be the chief theme

of all philosophy, even if it thus takes on itself the task
of talking straight on of that of which it can know abso-
lutely nothing. Indeed my philosophy does not permit
to the professors the fiction they have so cunningly
devised, and which has become so indispensable to them,
of a reason that knows, perceives, or apprehends imme-
diately and absolutely. This is a doctrine which it is only
necessary to impose upon the reader at starting, in order
to pass in the most comfortable manner in the world, as
it were in a chariot and four, into that region beyond
the possibility of all experience, which Kant has wholly
and for ever shut out from our knowledge, and in which
are found immediately revealed and most beautifully
arranged the fundamental dogmas of modern, Judaising,
optimistic Christianity. Now what in the world has my
subtle philosophy, deficient as it is in these essential
requisites, with no intentional aim, and unable to afford
a means of subsistence, whose pole star is truth alone

xxx PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.

the naked, unrewarded, unbefriended, often persecuted
truth, and which steers straight for it without looking to
the right hand or the left, — what, I say, has this to do
with that alma mater, the good, well-to-do university
philosophy which, burdened with a hundred aims and a
thousand motives, comes on its course cautiously tacking,
while it keeps before its eyes at all times the fear of the
Lord, the will of the ministry, the laws of the established
church, the wishes of the publisher, the attendance of the
students, the goodwill of colleagues, the course of current
politics, the momentary tendency of the public, and Heaven
knows what besides ? Or what has my quiet, earnest search
for truth in common with the noisy scholastic disputations
of the chair and the benches, the inmost motives of
which are always personal aims. The two kinds of
philosophy are, indeed, radically different Thus it is
that with me there is no compromise and no fellowship,
that no one reaps any benefit from my works but the
man who seeks the truth alone, and therefore none of the
philosophical parties of the day ; for they all follow their
own aims, while I have only insight into truth to offer,
which suits none of these aims, because it is not modelled
after any of them. If my philosophy is to become
susceptible of professorial exposition, the times must
entirely change. What a pretty thing it would be if a
philosophy by which nobody could live were to gain for
itself light and air, not to speak of the general ear!
This must be guarded against, and all must oppose it as
one man. But it is not just such an easy game to con-
trovert and refute ; and, moreover, these are mistaken
means to employ, because they just direct the attention
of the public to the matter, and its taste for the lucubra-

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. xxxi

tions of the professors of philosophy might be destroyed
by the perusal of my writings. For whoever has tasted
of earnest will not relish jest, especially when it is tire-
some. Therefore the silent system, so unanimously
adopted, is the only right one, and I can only advise
them to stick to it and go on with it as long as it will
answer, that is, until to ignore is taken to imply ignor-
ance ; then there will just be time to turn back. Mean-
while it remains open to every one to pluck out a small
feather here and there for his own use, for the superfluity
of thoughts at home should not be very oppressive. Thus
the ignoring and silent system may hold out a good
while, at least the span of time I may have yet to live,
whereby much is already won. And if, in the mean-
time, here and there an indiscreet voice has let itself be
heard, it is soon drowned by the loud talking of the pro-
fessors, who, with important airs, know how to entertain
the public with very different things. I advise, how-
ever, that the unanimity of procedure should be some-
what more strictly observed, and especially that the
young men should be looked after, for they are sometimes
so fearfully indiscreet. For even so I cannot guarantee
that the commended procedure will last for ever, and
cannot answer for the final issue. It is a nice question
as to the steering of the public, which, on the whole, is
good and tractable. Although we nearly at all times see
the Gorgiases and the Hippiases uppermost, although the
absurd, as a rule, predominates, and it seems impossible
that the voice of the individual can ever penetrate
through the chorus of the befooling and the befooled,
there yet remains to the genuine works of every age a
quite peculiar, silent, slow, and powerful influence ; and,

xxxii PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.

as if by a miracle, we see them rise at last out of the
turmoil like a balloon that floats up out of the thick
atmosphere of this globe into purer regions, where, hav-
ing once arrived, it remains at rest, and no one can draw
it down again.

Written at Frankfort-on-thc- Maine
in February 1 844.

jFirst Booft,

THE WORLD AS IDEA.

FIRST ASPECT.

THE IDEA SUBORDINATED TO THE PRINCIPLE OP SUFFICIENT
REASON : THE OBJECT OP EXPERIENCE AND SCIENCE.

Sors de l'enfance, ami reveille toi !

— Jean Jacques Rousseau.

VOL. I.

§ I. " The world is my idea : " — this is a truth
which holds good for everything that lives and knows,
though man alone can bring it into reflective and abstract
consciousness. If he really does this, he has attained to
philosophical wisdom. It then becomes clear and certain
to him that what he knows is not a sun and an earth,
but only an eye that sees a sun^ a hand that feels an
earth ; that the world which surrounds him is there only
as idea, i.e., only in relation to something else, the con-
sciousness, which is himself. If any truth can be asserted
a priori, it is this : for it is the expression of the most
general form of all possible and thinkable experience:
a form which is more general than time, or space, or
causality, for they all presuppose it; and each of these,
which we have seen to be just so many modes of the
principle of sufficient reason, is valid only for a particular
class of ideas ; whereas the antithesis of object and
subject is the common form of all these classes, is that
form under which alone any idea of whatever kind it
may be, abstract or intuitive, pure or empirical, is possible
and thinkable. HP- truth therefore is more certain, more
independent, of all others, and less in need of proof than
this, that J all that exists for knowledge, and therefore
this whole world, is only object in relation to subject,
perception of a perceiver, in a word, idea. This is
obviously true of the past and the future, as well as of
the present, of what is farthest off, as of what is near ; j
for it is true of time and space themselves, in which |
alone these distinctions arise. All that in any way

4 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

belongs or can belong to the world is inevitably thus
conditioned through the subject, and exists only for the
subject. The world is ide%j.

This truth is by no means new. It was implicitly
involved in the sceptical reflections from which Descartes
started. Berkeley, however, was the first who distinctly
enunciated it, and by this he has rendered a permanent
service to philosophy, even though the rest of his teaching
should not endure. Kant's primary mistake was the
neglect of this principle, as is shown in the appendix.
How early again this truth was recognised by the wise
men of India, appearing indeed as the fundamental tenet
of the Vedaiita philosophy ascribed to Vyasa, is pointed
out by Sir William Jones in the last of his essays : " On
the philosophy of the Asiatics " (Asiatic Eesearches, voL
iv. p. 1 64), where he says, " The fundamental tenet of
the Vedanta school consisted not in denying the exist-
ence of matter, that is, of solidity, impenetrability, and
extended figure (to deny which would be lunacy), but in
correcting the popular notion of it, and in contending
that it has no essence independent of mental perception ;
that existence and perceptibility are convertible terms."
These words adequately express the compatibility of
empirical reality and transcendental ideality.

In this first book, then, we consider the world only
from this side, only so far as it is idea. The inward
reluctance with which any one accepts the world as
merely his idea, warns him that this view of it, however
true it may be, is nevertheless one-sided, adopted in
consequence of some arbitrary abstraction. And yet it
is a conception from which he can never free himsel£
The defectiveness of this view will be corrected in the
next book by means of a truth which is not so im-
mediately certain as that from which we start here ; a
truth at which we can arrive only by deeper research
and more severe abstraction, by the separation of what
is different and the union of what is identical. This

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 5

truth, which must be very serious and impressive if not
awful to every one, is that a man can also say and must
say, " the world is my will."

In this book, however, we must consider separately
that aspect of the world from which we start, its aspect
as knowable, and therefore, in the meantime, we must,
without reserve, regard all presented objects, even our
own bodies (as we shall presently show more fully),
merely as ideas, and call them merely ideas. By so
, doing we always abstract from will (as we hope to make
clear to every one further on), which by itself constitutes
the other aspect of the world. For as the world is in
one aspect entirely idea, so in another it is entirely will.
A reality which is neither of these two, but an object in
itself (into which the thing in itself has unfortunately
dwindled in the hands of Kant), is the phantom of a
dream, and its acceptance is an ignis fatuus in philo-
sophy.

§ 2. That which knows all things and is known by

none is the subject. Thus it is the supporter of the

world, that condition of all phenomena, of all objects

which is always pre- supposed throughout experience ; for

all that exists, exists only for the subject. Every one

finds himself to be subject, yet only in so far as he

knows, not in so far as he is an object of knowledge.

But his body is object, and therefore from this point of

view we call it idea. For the body is an object among

objects, and is conditioned by the laws of objects, although

it is an immediate object. Like all objects of perception,

; it lies within the universal forms of knowledge, time and

! space, which are the conditions of multiplicity. The

1 subject, on the contrary, which is always the knower,

never the known, does not come under these forms, but

is presupposed by them ; it has therefore neither niulti-

yplicity nor its opposite unity. We never know it, but it \

R is always the knower wherever there is knowledge.

So then the world as idea, the only aspect in which

6 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

we consider it at present, has two fundamental, necessary,
and inseparable halves. The one half is the object, the
forms of which are space and time, and through these
multiplicity. The other half is the subject, which is not
in space and time, for it is present, entire and undivided,
in every percipient being. So that any one percipient
/ being, with the object, constitutes the whole world as
idea just as fully as the existing millions could do ; but
if this one were to disappear, then the whole world as
idea would cease to be. These halves are therefore in-
separable even for thought, for each of the two has
meaning and existence only through and for the other,
each appears with the other and vanishes with it They
limit each other immediately ; where the object begins
the subject ends. The universality of this limitation is
shown by the fact tnatthe essential and hence universal
forms of all objects, space, time, and causality, may,
without knowledge of the object, be discovered and fully
known from a consideration of the subject, ie., in Kan-
tian language, they lie a priori in our consciousness.
That he discovered this is one of Kant's principal merits,
and it is a great one. I however go beyond this, and
•maintain that the principIeT'of sufficient reason is the
general expression for all these forms of the object of
which we are a priori conscious ; and that therefore all
that we know purely a priori, is merely the content of
that principle and what follows from it; in it all our
certain a priori knowledge is expressed. In my essay on
the principle of sufficient reason I have shown in detail
how every possible object comes under it ; that is, stands
in a necessary relation to other objects, on the one side
as determined, on the other side as determining : this is
of such wide application, that the whole existence of all
objects, so far as they are objects, ideas and nothing
more, may be entirely traced to this their necessary
relation to each other, rests only in it, is in fact merely
relative; but of this more presently. I have further

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 7

shown, that the necessary relation which the principle
of sufficient reason expresses generally, appears in other
forms corresponding to the classes into which objects are
divided, according to their possibility ; and again that by
these forms the proper division of the classes is tested.
I take it for granted that what I said in this earlier
essay is known and present to the reader, for if it had
not been alreaay said it would necessarily find its place
here.

§ 3. The chief distinction among our ideas is that
between ideas of perception and abstract ideas. The
latter form just one class of ideas, namely concepts, and
these are the possession of man alone of all creatures
upon earth. The capacity for these, which distinguishes
him from all the lower animals, has always been called
reason.1 We shall consider these abstract ideas by
themselves later, but, in the first place, we shall speak
exclusively of the ideas of perception. These comprehend
the whole visible world, or the sum total of experience,
with the conditions of its possibility. We have already
observed that it is a highly important discovery of Kant's,
that these very conditions, these forms of the visible world,
i.e.t the absolutely universal element in its perception,
the common property of all its phenomena, space and time,
even when taken by themselves and apart from their con-
tent, can, not only be thought in the abstract, but also
be directly perceived ; and that this perception or intuition
is not some kind of phantasm arising from constant re-
currence in experience, but is so entirely independent of
experience that we must rather regard the latter as de-
pendent on it, inasmuch as the qualities of space and
time, as they are known in a priori perception or intui*
tion, are valid for all possible experience, as rules to
which it must invariably conform. Accordingly, in my

1 Kant is the only writer who my " Grundprobleme der Ethik " :

has confused this idea of reason, Grundl. dd. Moral. §6, pp. 148-154,

and in this connection I refer the first and second editions,
reader to the Appendix, and also to

8 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

essay on the principle of sufficient reason, I have treated
space and time, because they are perceived as pure and
empty of content, as a special and independent class of
ideas. This quality of the universal forms of intuition,
which was discovered by Kant, that they may be per-
ceived in themselves and apart from experience, and that
they may be known as exhibiting those laws on which is
founded the infallible science of mathematics, is certainly
very important. JNpt less worthy of remark, however, is
this other quality of time and space, that the principle of
sufficient reason, which conditions experience as the law
of causation and of motive, and thought as the law of the
basis of judgment, appears here in quite a special form,
to which I have given the name of the ground of being.
In time, this is the succession of its moments, and in
space the position of its parts, which reciprocally deter-
mine each other ad infinitum.

Any one who has fully understood from the introduc-
tory essay the complete identity of the content of the
principle of sufficient reason in all its different forms,
must also be convinced of the importance of the know-
ledge of the simplest of these forms, as affording him
insight into his own inmost nature. This simplest form
of the principle we have found to be time. In it each
instant is, only in so far as it has effaced the preceding
one, its generator, to be itself in turn as quickly effaced.
The past and the future (considered apart from the con-
sequences of their content) are empty as a dream, and the
present is only the indivisible and uuenduring boundary
between them. And in all the other forms of the prin-
ciple of sufficientr&ason, we shall find the same empti-
ness, and shall see that not time only but also space, and
the whole content of both of them, i.e., all that proceeds
from causes and motives, has a merely relative existence,
is only through and for another like to itself, i.e., not
more enduring. The substance of this doctrine is old :
it appears in Heraclitus when he laments the eternal

THE WORLD AS IDEA. g

flux of things ; in Plato when he degrades the object to
that which is ever becoming, but never being ; in Spinoza
as the doctrine of the mere accidents of the one sub-
stance which is and endures. Kant opposes what is
thus known as the mere phenomenon to the thing in it-
self. Lastly, the ancient wisdom of the Indian philoso-
phers declares, " It is Maya, the veil of deception, which
blinds the eyes of mortals, and makes them behold a
world of which they cannot say either that it is or that it
is not : for it is like a dream ; it is like the sunshine
on the sand which the traveller takes from afar for
water, or the stray piece of rope he mistakes for a snake."
(These similes are repeated in innumerable passages of
the Vedas and the Puranas.) But what all these mean,
and that of which they all speak, is nothing more than
what we have just considered — the world as idea subject
to the principle of sufficient reason.

§ 4. Whoever has recognised the form of the principle
of sufficient reason, which appears in pure time as such,
and on which all counting and arithmetical calculation
rests, has completely mastered the nature of time. JHsue_
\J is nothing more than that form of the principle of suffi-
cient reason, and has no further significance. Succession
is the form of the principle of sufficient reason in time,
and succession is the whole nature of time. Further,
whoever has recognised the principle of sufficient reason
as it appears in the presentation of pure space, has
exhausted the whole nature of space, which is absolutely
nothing more than that possibility of the reciprocal deter-
mination of its parts by each other, which is called posi-
tion. The detailed treatment of this, and the formulation
in abstract conceptions of the results which flow from
it, so that they may be more conveniently used, is the
subject of the science of geometry. Thus also, whoever
has recognised the law of causation^ the'- aspect of the
principle of sufficient reason which appears in what fills
these forms (space and time) as objects of perception,

x

IO THE WORLD AS IDEA,

that is to say matter, has completely mastered the nature
of matter as such, for matter is nothing more than causa-
tion, as any one will see at once if he reflects. Its true
S being is its action, nor can we possibly conceive it as
having any other meaning. Only as active does it fill
space and time; its action upon the immediate object
(which is itself matter) determines that perception in
which alone it exists. The consequence of the action of
any material object upon any other, is known only in so
far as the latter acts upon the immediate object in a
different way from that in which it acted before; it
consists only of this. Cause and effect thus constitute
the whole nature of matter ; its true being is its action.
(A fuller treatment of this will be found in the essay on
the Principle of Sufficient Keason, § 21, p. 77.) The
nature of all material things is therefore very appro-
priately called in German WirUichUit} a word which is
far more expressive than Healitdt. Again, that which is
acted upon is always matter, and thus the whole being
and essence of matter consists in the orderly change,
which one part of it brings about in another part. The
existence of matter is therefore entirely relative, accord-
ing to a relation which is valid only within its limits, as
in the case of time and space.

But time and space, each for itself, can be mentally
presented apart from matter, whereas matter cannot be
so presented apart from time and space. The form
which is inseparable from it presupposes space, and the
action in which its very existence consists, always im-
ports some change, in other words a determination in
time. But space and time are not only, each for itself,
presupposed by matter, but a union of the two constitutes
its essence, for this, as we have seen, consists in action,
t.e., in causation. All the innumerable conceivable
phenomena and conditions of things, might be coexistent

J Mira in quibusdam rebus rer- sermonis antiqui qusedam efficacis-
borum propriety est, et consuetude simis notis signat. Seneca, epist. 81.

THE WORLD AS IDEA. II

in boundless space, without limiting each other, or might
be successive in endless time without interfering with
each other : thus a necessary relation of these phenomena
to each other, and a law which should regulate them
according to such a relation, is by no means needful,
would not, indeed, be applicable: it therefoiu follows
that in the case of all co-existence in space and change
in time, so long as each of these forms preserves for
itself its condition and its course without any connection
with the other, there can be no causation, and since
causation constitutes the essential nature of matter, there
can be no matter. But the law of causation receives its
meaning and necessity^only from this, that the essence
of change does not consist simply in the mere variation
of things, but rather in the fact that at the same part of
space there is now one thing and then another, and at one
and the same point of time there is here one thing and
there another: only this reciprocal limitation of space
and time by each other gives meaning, and at the same
time necessity, to a law, according to which change must
take place. What is determined by the law of causality
is therefore not merely a succession of things in time,
but this succession with reference to a definite space,
and not merely existence of things in a particular place,
but in this place at a different point of time. Change,
ie., variation which takes place according to the law of
causality, implies always a determined part of space and
a determined part of time together and in union. Thus
causality unites space with time. But we found that
the whole essence of matter consisted in action, i.e., in
causation, consequently space and time must also be
united in matter, that is to say, matter must take to
itself at once the distinguishing qualities both of space
and time, however much these may be opposed to each
other, and must unite in itself what is impossible for
each of these independently, that is, the fleeting course
of time, with the rigid unchangeable perduration of

12 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

space : infinite divisibility it receives from both. It is
for this reason that we find that co-existence, which
could neither be in time alone, for time has no contiguity,
nor in space alone, for space has no before, after, or now,
is first established through matter. But the co-existence
of many things constitutes, in fact, the essence of reality,
for through it permanence first becomes possible; for
permanence is only knowable in the change of some-
thing which is present along with what is permanent,
while on the other hand it is only because something
permanent is present along with what changes, that the
latter gains the special character of change, i.e.y the muta-
tion of quality and form in the permanence of substance,
that is to say, in matter.1 If the world were in space
alone, it would be rigid and immovable, without succes-
sion, without change, without action ; but we know that
with action, the idea of matter first appears. Again, if
the world were in time alone, all would be fleeting, with-
out persistence, without contiguity, hence without co-
existence, and consequently without permanence; so
that in this case also there would be no matter. Only
through the union of space and time do we reach matter,
and matter is the possibility of co-existence, and, through
that, of permanence ; through permanence again matter
is the possibility of the persistence of substance in the
change of its states.2 As matter consists in the union
of space and time, it bears throughout the stamp of both.
It manifests its origin in space, partly through the form
which is inseparable from it, but especially through its
persistence (substance), the a priori certainty of which
is therefore wholly deducible from that of space 8 (for
variation belongs to time alone, but in it alone and for
itself nothing is persistent). Matter shows that it springs

1 It is shown in the Appendix space," for motion consists simply

that matter and substance are one. in the union of space and time.

a This shows the ground of the » Not, as Kant holds, from the
Kantian explanation of matter, that knowledge of time, as will be ex-
it is " that which fe movable in plained in the Appendix.

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 13

from time by quality (accidents), without which it never
exists, and which is plainly always causality, action upon
other matter, and therefore change (a time concept). The
law of this action, however, always depends upon space
and time together, and only thus obtains meaning. The
regulative function of causality is confined entirely to
the determination of what must occupy this time and this
space. The fact that we know a priori the unalterable
characteristics of matter, depends upon this derivation of
its essential nature from the forms of our knowledge of
which we are conscious a priori. These unalterable
characteristics are space- occupation, i.e., impenetrability,
i.e., causal action, consequently, extension, infinite divisi-
bility, persistence, i.e., indestructibility, and lastly mo-
bility: weight, on the other hand, notwithstanding its
universality, must be attributed to a posteriori knowledge,
although Kant, in his " Metaphysical Introduction to
Natural Philosophy," p. 71 (p. 372 of Kosenkranz's
edition), treats it as knowable a priori.

But as the object in general is only for the subject, as
its idea, so every special class of ideas is only for an
equally special quality in the subject, which is called a
faculty of perception. This subjective correlative of
time and space in themselves as empty forms, has been
named by Kant pure sensibility ; and we may retain this
expression, as Kant was the first to treat of the subject,
though it is not exact, for sensibility presupposes matter.
The_ subjective correlative of matter or of causation, for
these two are the same, is understanding, which is no-
thing more than this. To know causality is its one
function, its only power ; and it is a great one, embracing
much, of manifold application, yet of unmistakable iden-
tity in all its manifestations. Conversely all causation,
that is to say, all matter, or the whole of reality, is only
for the understanding, through the understanding, and in
the understanding. The first, simplest, and ever-present
example of understanding is the perception of the actual

1 4 THE WORLD A S IDEA .

world. This is throughout knowledge of the cause from
the effect, and therefore all perception is intellectual
The understanding could never arrive at this perception,
however, if some effect did not become known immedi-
ately, and thus serve as a starting-point But this is the
affection of the animal body, gojar, then, the animal
body is the immediate object of the subject ; the percep-
tion of all other objects becomes possible through it
The changes which every animal body experiences, are
immediately known, that is, felt; and as these effects are
at once referred to their causes, the perception of the
latter as objects arises. This relation is no conclusion in
abstract conceptions; it does not arise from reflection,
nor is it arbitrary, but immediate, necessary, and certain.
It is the method of knowing of the pure understanding,
without which there could be no perception ; there would
only remain a dull plant-like consciousness of the
changes of the immediate object, which would succeed
each other in an utterly unmeaning way, except in so
far as they might have a meaning for the will either as
pain or pleasure. But as with the rising of the sun the
visible world appears^ so at one stroke, the understand-
ing, by means of its one simple function, changes the
dull, meaningless sensation into perception. What the
eye, the ear, or the hand feels, is not perception ; it is
merely its data. By_the understanding passing from the
effect to the cause, the world first appears as perception
extended in space, varying in respect of form, persistent
through all time in respect of matter; for the understand-
ing unites space and time in the idea of matter, that is,
causal action. As the world as idea exists only through
the understanding, so also it exists only for the under-
standing. In the first chapter of my essay on " Light
and Colour," I have already explained how the under-
standing constructs perceptions out of the data supplied
by the senses ; how by comparison of the impressions
which the various senses receive from the object, a child

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 15

arrives at perceptions ; how this alone affords the solu-
tion of so many phenomena of the senses ; the single
vision of two eyes, the double vision in the case of a
squint, or when we try to look at once at objects
which lie at unequal distances behind each other ; and
all illusion which is produced by a sudden alteration in
the organs of sense. But I have treated this important
subject much more fully and thoroughly in the second
edition of the essay on " The Principle of Sufficient
Beason," § 21. All that is said there would find its
proper place here, and would therefore have to be said
again ; but as I have almost as much disinclination to
quote myself as to quote others, and as I am unable to
explain the subject better than it is explained there, I
refer the reader to it, instead of quoting it, and take for
granted that it is known.

The process by which children, and persons born
blind who have been operated upon, learn to see, the
single vision of the double sensation of two eyes, the
double vision and double touch which occur when the
organs of sense have been displaced from their usual
position, the upright appearance of objects while the
picture on the retina is upside down, the attributing of
colour to the outward objects, whereas it is merely an
inner function, a division through polarisation, of the
activity of the eye, and lastly the stereoscope, — -all
these are sure and incontrovertible evidence that per-
ception is not merely of the senses, but intellectual —
that is, pure knowledge through the understanding of the
cause from the effect, and that, consequently, it pre-
supposes the law of causality, in a knowledge of which
all perception — that is to say all experience, by virtue
of its primary and only possibility, depends. The con-
trary doctrine that the law of causality results from
experience, which was the scepticism of Hume, is first
refuted by this. For the independence of the know-
ledge of causality of all experience, — that is, its a priori

i6 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

character — can only be deduced from the dependence of
all experience upon it ; and this deduction can only be
accomplished by proving, in the manner here indicated,
and explained in the passages referred to above, that
the knowledge of causality is included in perception in
general, to which all experience belongs, and therefore
in respect of experience is completely a 'priori, does not
presuppose it, but is presupposed by it as a condition.
This, however, cannot be deduced in the manner at-
tempted by Kant, which I have criticised in the essay
on "The Principle of Sufficient Eeason," § 23.

§ 5. It is needful to guard against the grave error of
supposing that because perception arises through the
knowledge of causality, the relation of subject and object
is that of cause and effect. For this relation subsists
only between the immediate object and objects known
indirectly, thus always between objects alone. It is this
false supposition that has given rise to the foolish con-
troversy about the reality of the outer world ; a contro-
versy in which dogmatism and scepticism oppose each
other, and the former appears, now as realism, now as
idealism. Eealism treats the object as cause, and the
subject as its effect The idealism of Fichte reduces the
object to the effect of the subject. Since however, and
this cannot be too much emphasised, there is absolutely
no relation according to the principle of sufficient reason
between subject and object, neither of these views could
be proved, and therefore scepticism attacked them both
with success. Now, just as the law of causality pre-
cedes perception an3 experience as their condition, and
therefore cannot (as Hume thought) be derived from
them, so object and subject precede all knowledge, and
hence the principle of sufficient reason in general, as its
first condition ; for this principle is merely the form of
all objects, the whole nature and possibility of their
existence as phenomena: but the object always pre-
supposes the subject; and therefore between these two

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 17

there can be no relation of reason and consequent. My

7 essay on the principle of sufficient reason accomplishes
just this : it explains the content of that principle as the
essential form of every object — that is to say, as the
universal nature of all objective existence, as something
which pertains to the object as such ; but the object as
such always presupposes the subject as its necessary
correlative ; and therefore the subject remains always
outside the province in which the principle of sufficient
reason is valid. The controversy as to the reality of the
outer world rests upon this false extension of the validity
of the principle of sufficient reason to the subject also,
and starting with this mistake it can never understand
itself. On the one side realistic dogmatism, looking
upon the idea as the effect of the object, desires to
separate these two, idea and object, which are really one,
and to assume a cause quite different from the idea, an
object in itself, independent of the subject, a thing which
is quite inconceivable ; for even as object it presupposes
subject, and so remains its idea. Opposed to this doc-
trine is scepticism, which makes the same false pre-
supposition that in the idea we have only the effect,
never the cause, therefore never real being; that we
always know merely the action of the object. But this
object, it supposes, may perhaps have no resemblance
whatever to its effect, may indeed have been quite
erroneously received as the cause, for the law of causality
is first to be gathered from experience, and the reality of
experience is then made to rest upon it. Thus both of
these views are open to the correction, firstly, that object
and idea are the same ; secondly, that the true being of
the object of perception is its action, that the reality of
the thing consists in this, and the demand for an ex-
istence of the object outside the idea of the subject, and
also for an essence of the actual thing different from its
action, has absolutely no meaning, and is a contradiction :
and that the knowledge of the nature of the effect of any

VOL. I. B

1 8 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

perceived object, exhausts such an object itself, so far as
it is object, ie.t idea, for beyond this there is nothing
more to be known. §o^far then, the perceived world in
space and time, which makes itself known as causation
alone, is entirely real, and is throughout simply what it
appears to be, and it appears wholly and without reserve
as idea, bound together according to the law of causality.
This is its empirical reality. On the other hand, all
causality is in the understanding alone, and for the
understanding. The whole actual, that is, active world
is determined as such through the understanding, and
apart from it is nothing. This, however, is not the only
reason for altogether denying such a reality of the outer
world as is taught by the dogmatist, who explains its
reality as its independence of the subject. We also
deny it, because no object apart from a subject can be
conceived without contradiction. The whole world of
objects is and remains idea, and therefore wholly and for
ever determined by the subject ; that is to say, it has
transcendental ideality. But it is not therefore illusion
or mere appearance ; it presents itself as that which it is,
idea, and indeed as a series of ideas of which the common
bond is the principle of sufficient reason. It is accord-
ing to its inmost meaning quite comprehensible to the
healthy understanding, and speaks a language quite
intelligible to it. To dispute about its reality can only
occur to a mind perverted by over-subtilty, and such
discussion always arises from a false application of the
principle of sufficient reason, which binds all ideas
together of whatever kind they may be, but by no means
connects them with the subject, nor yet with a something
which is neither subject nor object, but only the ground
of the object ; an absurdity, for only objects can be and
always are the ground of objects. If we examine more
closely the source of this question as to the reality of the
outer world, we find that besides the false application
of the principle of sufficient reason generally to what lies

PTHE WORLD AS IDEA. 19

beyond its province, a special confusion of its forms is
also involved ; for that form which it has only in reference
to concepts or abstract ideas, is applied to perceived
ideas, real objects; and a ground of knowing is de-
manded of objects, whereas they can have nothing but a
ground of being. Among the abstract ideas, the concepts
united in the judgment, the principle of sufficient reason
appears in such a way that each of these has its worth,
its validity, and its whole existence, here called truth,
simply and solely through the relation of the judgment
to something outside of it, its ground of knowledge, to
which there must consequently always be a return.
Among real objects, ideas of perception, on the other
hand, the principle of sufficient reason appears not as the
principle of the ground of Jcnowingy but of being, as the
law of causality : every real object has paid its debt to
it, inasmuch as it has come to be, i.e., has appeared as
the effect of a cause. The demand for a ground of know-
ing has therefore here no application and no meaning,
but belongs to quite another class of things. Thus the
world of perception raises in the observer no question or
doubt so long as he remains in contact with it : there is
here neither error nor truth, for these are confined to
the province of the abstract — the province of reflection.
But here the world lies open for sense and understanding;
presents itself with naive truth as that which it really
is — ideas of perception which develop themselves accord-
ing to the law of causality.

So far as we have considered the question of the
reality of the outer world, it arises from a confusion
which amounts even to a misunderstanding of reason
itself, and therefore thus far, the question could be
answered only by explaining its meaning. After exami-
nation of the whole nature of the principle of sufficient
reason, of the relation of subject and object, and the
special conditions of sense perception, the question itself
disappeared because it had no longer any meaning. There

20 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

is, however, one other possible origin of tin's question,
quite different from the purely speculative one which we
have considered, a specially empirical origin, though the
question is always raised from a speculative point of view,
and in this form it has a much more comprehensible mean-
ing than it had in the first. We have dreams ; may not
our whole life be a dream ? or more exactly : is there a
sure criterion of the distinction between dreams and reality?
between phantasms and real objects ? The assertion that
what is dreamt is less vivid and distinct than what we ac-
tually perceive is not to the point, because no one has ever
been able to make a fair comparison of the two ; for we
can only compare the recollection of a dream with the
present reality. Kant answers the question thus : " The
connection of ideas among themselves, according to the
law of causality, constitutes the difference between real
life and dreams." But in dreams, as well as in real life,
everything is connected individually at any rate, in
accordance with the principle of sufficient reason in all
its forms, and this connection is broken only between
life and dreams, or between one dream and another.
Kant's answer therefore could only run thus : — the long
dream (life) has throughout complete connection accord-
ing to the principle of sufficient reason ; it has not this
connection, however, with short dreams, although each of
these has in itself the same connection: the bridge is
therefore broken between the former and the latter, and
on this account we distinguish them.

But to institute an inquiry according to this criterion,
as to whether something was dreamt or seen, would
always be difficult and often impossible. For we are by
no means in a position to trace link by link the causal
connection between any experienced event and the present
moment, but we do not on that account explain it as
dreamt. Therefore in real life we do not commonly
employ that method of distinguishing between dreams
and reality. The only sure criterion by which to dis-

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 21

tinguish them is in fact the entirely empirical one of
awaking, through which at any rate the causal connec-
tion between dreamed events and those of waking life, is
distinctly and sensibly broken off. This is strongly
supported by the remark of Hobbes in the second chapter
of Leviathan, that we easily mistake dreams for reality
if we have unintentionally fallen asleep without taking
off our clothes, and much more so when it also happens
that some undertaking or design fills all our thoughts,
and occupies our dreams as well as our waking moments.
We then observe the awaking just as little as the falling
asleep, dream and reality run together and become con-
founded. In such a case there is nothing for it but the
application of Kant's criterion ; but if, as often happens,
we fail to establish by means of this criterion, either the
existence of causal connection with the present, or the
absence of such connection, then it must for ever remain
uncertain whether an event was dreamt or really hap-
pened. Here, in fact, the intimate relationship between
life and dreams is brought out very clearly, and we need
not be ashamed to confess it, as it has been recognised
and spoken of by many great men. The Vedas and
Puranas have no better simile than a dream for the
whole knowledge of the actual world, which they call
the web of Maya, and they use none more frequently.
Plato often says that men live only in a dream; the
philosopher alone strives to awake himself. Pindar
says (ii 17. 1 3 5) : a kick ovap avdpcoTros (umbrse somnium
homo), and Sophocles : —

*0*u yu.g r)[iag ovdzv ovras aKko, nXvjv

2/5wa' oaoiirto ZuiAtv, r\ xwpriv ffuav. — Ajax, 125.

(Nos enim, quicunque vivimus, nihil aliud esse comperio
quam simulacra et levem umbram.) Beside which most
worthily stands Shakespeare : —

11 We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
la rounded with a sleep." — Tempest, Act iv. Sc I.

22 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

Lastly, Calderon was so deeply impressed with this view
of life that he sought to embody it in a kind of meta-
physical drama — " Life a Dream."

After these numerous quotations from the poets, per-
haps I also may be allowed to express myself by a
metaphor. Life and dreams are leaves of the same book.
The systematic reading of this book is real life, but when
the reading hours (that is, the day) are over, we often
continue idly to turn over the leaves, and read a page
here and there without method or connection : often one
we have read before, sometimes one that is new to us,
but always in the same book. Such an isolated page is
indeed out of connection with the systematic study of
the book, but it does not seem so very different when
we remember that the whole continuous perusal begins
and ends just as abruptly, and may therefore be re-
garded as merely a larger single page.

Thus although individual dreams are distinguished from
real life by the fact that they do not fit into that con-
tinuity which runs through the whole of experience, and
the act of awaking brings this into consciousness, yet that
very continuity of experience belongs to real life as its
form, and the dream on its part can point to a similar
continuity in itself. If, therefore, we consider the ques-
tion from a point of view external to both, there is no
distinct difference in their nature, and we are forced to
concede to the poets that life is a long dream.

Let us turn back now from this quite independent
empirical origin of the question of the reality of the outer
world, to its speculative origin. We^ftnmcl that this con-
sisted, first, in the false application of the principle of
sufficient reason to the relation of subject and object ;
and secondly, in the confusion of its forms, inasmuch
as the principle of sufficient reason of knowing was
extended to a province in which the principle of suffi-
cient reason of being is valid. But the question could
hardly have occupied philosophers so constantly if it

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 23

were entirely devoid of all real content, and if some true
thought and meaning did not lie at its heart as its real
source. Accordingly, we must assume that when the
element of truth that lies at the bottom of the question
first came into reflection and sought its expression, it be-
came involved in these confused and meaningless forms
and problems. Jhis at least is my opinion, and I think
that the true expression of that inmost meaning of the
question, which it failed to find, is this : — What is this
world of perception besides being my idea ? Is that of
which I am conscious only as idea, exactly like my own
body, of which I am doubly conscious, in one aspect as
idea, in another aspect as will ? The fuller explanation
of this question and its answer in the affirmative, will
form the content of the second book, and its consequences
will occupy the remaining portion of this work.

§ 6. For the present, however, in this first book we
consider everything merely as idea, as object for the sub-
ject. And our own body, which is the starting-point for
each of us in our perception of the world, we consider,
like all other real objects, from the side of its knowable-
ness, and in this regard it is simply an idea. Now the
consciousness of every one is in general opposed to the
explanation of objects as mere ideas, and more especially
to the explanation of our bodies as such ; for the thing in
itself is known to each of us immediately in so far as it
appears as our own body ; but in so far as it objectifies
itself in the other objects of perception, it is known only
indirectly. But this abstraction, this one-sided treat-
ment, this forcible separation of what is essentially and
necessarily united, is only adopted to meet the demands
of our argument ; and therefore the disinclination to it
must, in the meantime, be suppressed and silenced by the
expectation that the subsequent treatment will correct
the one-sidedness of the present one, and complete our
knowledge of the nature of the world.

At present therefore the body is for us immediate

M THE WORLD AS IDEA.

object; that is to say, that idea which forms the
starting-point of the subject's knowledge; because the
body, with its immediately known changes, precedes the
application of the law of causality, and thus supplies it
with its lint data. The whole nature of matter consists
as we have seen, in its causal action. But cause and
effect exist only for the understanding, which is nothing but
their subjective correlative. The understanding, however
could never come into operation if there were not some-
thing else from which it starts. This is simple sensa-
tion—the immediate consciousness of the changes of the
body, by virtue of which it is immediate object. Thus
the possibility of knowing the world of perception-de-
pends upon two conditions ; the first, objectively expressed
is the power of material things to act upon each other to
produce changes in each other, without which common
quality of all hodies no perception would be possible
even by means of the sensibility of the animal body
And if we wish to express this condition subjectively we
say : The understanding first makes perception possible;
lor the law of causality, the possibility of effect and
cause, springs only from the understanding, and is valid
only for it, and therefore the world of perception exists
only through and for it. The second condition is the
sensibility of animal bodies, oTthe quality of bein" im-
mediate objects of the subject which certain bodies" pos-
sess. The mere modification which the organs of sense
sustain from without through their specific affections
may here be called ideas, so far as these affections pro-
duce neither pain nor pleasure, that is, have no imme-
diate significance for the will, and are yet perceived, exist
therefore only for knowledge. Thus far, then, I say that
the body is immediately known, is immediate object. But
the conception of object is not to be taken here in its
fullest sense, for through this immediate knowledge of
the body, which precedes the operation of the understand-
ing, and is mere sensation, our own body does not exist

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 25

specifically as object, but first the material things which
affect it : for all knowledge of an object proper, of an idea
perceived in space, exists only through and for the under-
standing ; therefore not before, but only subsequently to
its operation. Therefore the body as object proper, that
is, as an idea perceived in space, is first known indirectly,
like all other objects, through the application of the
law of causality to the action of one of its parts upon
another, as, for example, when the eye sees the body or
the hand touches it. Consequently the form of our
body does not become known to us through mere feel-
ing, but only through knowledge, only in idea ; that is to
say, only in the brain does our own body first come to
appear as extended, articulate, organic. A man born
blind receives this idea only little by little from the data
afforded by touch. A blind man without hands could
never come to know his own form ; or at the most could
infer and construct it little by little from the effects of
other bodies upon him. If, then, we call the body an
immediate object, we are to be understood with these
reservations.

In other respects, then, according to what has been
said, all animal bodies are immediate objects ; that is,
starting-points for the subject which always knows
and therefore is never known in its perception of the
world. Thus the distinctive characteristic of animal
life is knowledge, with movement following on motives,
which are determined by knowledge, just as movement
following on stimuli is the distinctive characteristic of
plant-life. Unorganised matter, however, has no move-
ment except such as is produced by causes properly so
called, using the term in its narrowest sense. All this I
have thoroughly discussed in my essay on the principle
of sufficient reason, § 20, in the "Ethics," first essay, iii.,
and in my work on Sight and Colour, § 1, to which I
therefore refer.

It follows from what has been said, that all animals.

20

THE WORLD AS IDEA.

even the least developed, have understanding; for they
all know objects, and this knowledge determines their
movements as motive. .Understanding is the same in all
animals and in all men; it has everywhere the same
simple form; knowledge of causality, transition from
effect to cause, and from cause to effect, nothing more ;
but the degree of its acuteness, and the extension of the
sphere of its knowledge varies enormously, with in-
numerable gradations from the lowest form, which is
only conscious of the causal connection between the im-
mediate object and objects affecting it — that is to say,
perceives a cause as an object in space by passing to
it from the affection which the body feels, to the higher
grades of knowledge of the causal connection among
objects known indirectly, which extends to the under-
standing of the most complicated system of cause and
effect in nature. For even this high degree of knowledge
is still the work of the understanding, not of the reason.
The abstract concepts of the reason can only serve to
take up the objective connections which are immediately
known by the understanding, to make them permanent
for thought, and to relate them to each other; but
reason never gives us immediate knowledge. Every
force and law of nature, every example of such forces
and laws, must first be immediately known by the under-
standing, must be apprehended through perception before
it can pass into abstract consciousness for reason. Hooke's
discovery of the law of gravitation, and the reference of
so many important phenomena to this one law, was the
work of immediate apprehension by the understanding;
and such also was the proof of Newton's calculations, and
Lavoisier's discovery of acids and their important function
in nature, and also Goethe's discovery of the origin of
physical colours. All these discoveries are nothing more
than a correct immediate passage from the effect to the
cause, which is at once followed by the recognition of the
ideality of the force of nature which expresses itself in all

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 27

causes of the same kind; and this complete insight is
just an example of that single function of the understand-
ing, by which an animal perceives as an object in space
the cause which affects its body, and differs from such a
perception only in degree. Every one of these great
discoveries is therefore, just like perception, an operation
of the understanding, an immediate intuition, and as such
the work of an instant, an appergu, a flash of insight.
They are not the result of a process of abstract reasoning,
wElch only serves to make the immediate knowledge of
the understanding permanent for thought by bringing it
under abstract concepts, i.e., it makes knowledge distinct,
it puts us in a position to impart it and explain it to
others. The keenness of the understanding in appre-
hending the causal relations of objects which are known
indirectly, does not find its only application in the sphere
of natural science (though all the discoveries in that
sphere are due to it), but it also appears in practical life.
It is then called good sense or prudence, as in its other
application it is better called acuteness, penetration,
sagacity. More exactly, good sense or prudence signifies
exclusively understanding at the command of the will.
But the limits of these conceptions must not be too
sharply defined, for it is always that one function of the
understanding by means of which all animals perceive
objects in space, which, in its keenest form, appears now
in the phenomena of nature, correctly inferring the un-
known causes from the given effects, and providing the
material from which the reason frames general rules as
laws of nature ; now inventing complicated and ingenious
machines by adapting known causes to desired effects ;
now in the sphere of motives, seeing through and frus-
trating intrigues and machinations, or fitly disposing the
motives and the men who are susceptible to them, setting
them in motion, as machines are moved by levers and
wheels, and directing them at will to the accomplish-
ment of its ends. Deficiency of understanding is called

28 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

stupidity. ^ It is just dulncss in applying the law of
causality, incapacity for the immediate apprehension of
the concatenations of causes and effects, motives and
actions. A stupid person lias no insight into the con-
nection of natural phenomena, either when they follow
their own course, or when they are intentionally com-
bined, i.e., are applied to machinery. Such a man readily
believes in magic and miracles. A stupid man does not
observe that persons, who apparently act independently
of each other, are really in collusion; he is therefore
easily mystified, and outwitted ; he does not discern the
hidden motives of proffered advice or expressions of
opinion, &c. But it is always just one thing that he
lacks— keenness, rapidity, ease in applying the law of
causality, i.e., power of understanding. The greatest,
and, in this reference, the most instructive example of
stupidity I ever met with, was the case of a totally
imbecile boy of about eleven years of age, in an asylum.
He had reason, because he spoke and comprehended, but
in respect of understanding he was inferior to many of
the lower animals. Whenever I visited him he noticed
an eye-glass which I wore round my neck, and in which
the window of the room and the tops of the trees beyond
were reflected : on every occasion he was greatly surprised
and delighted with this, and was never tired of looking
at it with astonishment, because he did not understand
the immediate causation of reflection.

While the difference in degree of the acuteness of the
understanding, is very great between man and man, it is
even greater between one species of animal and another.
In all species of animals, even those which are nearest
to plants, there is at least as much understanding as
suffices for the inference from the effect on the immediate
object, to the indirectly known object as its cause, i.ct
sufficient for perception, for the apprehension of an object
For it is this that constitutes them animals, as it gives
them the power of movement following on motives, and

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 29

thereby the power of seeking for food, or at least of seiz-
ing it ; whereas plants have only movement following on
stimuli, whose direct influence they must await, or else
decay, for they cannot seek after them nor appropriate
them. We marvel at the great sagacity of the most
developed species of animals, such as the dog, the
elephant, the monkey or the fox, whose cleverness has
been so admirably sketched by Buffon. From these
most sagacious animals, we can pretty accurately deter-
mine how far understanding can go without reason, i.e.,
abstract knowledge embodied in concepts. We could not
find this out from ourselves, for in us understanding and
reason always reciprocally support each other. We find
that the manifestation of understanding in animals is
sometimes above our expectation, and sometimes below
it. On the one hand, we are surprised at the sagacity of
the elephant, who, after crossing many bridges during his
journey in Europe, once refused to go upon one, because
he thought it was not strong enough to bear his weight,
though he saw the rest of the party, consisting of men
and horses, go upon it as usual. On the other hand, we
wonder that the intelligent Orang-outangs, who warm
themselves at a fire they have found, do not keep it
alight by throwing wood on it ; a proof that this requires
a deliberation which is not possible without abstract con-
cepts. It is clear that the knowledge of cause and effect,
as the universal form of understanding, belongs to all
animals a priori, because to them as to us it is the prior
condition of all perception of the outer world. If any
one desires additional proof of this, let him observe, for
example, how a young dog is afraid to jump down from
a table, however much he may wish to do so, because he
foresees the effect of the weight of his body, though he
has not been taught this by experience. In judging of
the understanding of animals, we must guard against
ascribing to it the manifestations of instinct, a faculty
which is quite distinct both from understanding and

3o THE WORLD AS IDEA.

reason, but the action of which is often very analogous
to the combined action of the two. We cannot, how-
ever, discuss this here; it will find its proper place in

v^ - the second book, when we consider the harmony or so-
called teleology of nature : and the 27th chapter of the

\ / supplementary volume is expressly devoted to it.

Deficiency of understanding we call stupidity: deficiency
in the application of reason to practice we shall recog-
nise later as foolishness : deficiency of judgment as silli-
ness, and lastly, partial or entire deficiency of memory
as madness. But each of these will be considered in
its own place. That which is correctly known by reason
is truth, that is, an abstract judgment on sufficient
grounds (Essay on the Principle of Sufficient Reason,
§ 29 and following paragraphs) ; that which is correctly
known by understanding is reality, that is correct infer-
ence from effect on the immediate object to its cause.
Error is opposed to truth, as deception of the reason:
illusion is opposed to reality, as deception of the under-
standing. The full discussion of all this will be found
in the first chapter of my essay on Light and Colour.
Illusion takes place when the same effect may be attri-
buted to two causes, of which one occurs very frequently,
the other very seldom; the understanding having no
data to decide which of these two causes operates in any
particular case, — for their effects are exactly alike, — always
assumes the presence of the commoner cause, and as the
activity of the understanding is not reflective and dis-
cursive, but direct and immediate, this false cause appears
before us as a perceived object, whereas it is merely
illusion. I have explained in the essay referred to, how
in this way double sight and double feeling take place if
the organs of sense are brought into an unusual position ;
and have thus given an incontrovertible proof that per-
ception exists only through and for the understanding.
As additional examples of such illusions or deceptions of
the understanding, we may mention the broken appear-

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 31

ance of a stick dipped in water; the reflections in spherical
mirrors, which, when the surface is convex appear some-
what behind it, and when the surface is concave appear
a long way in front of it. To this class also belongs the
apparently greater extension of the moon at the horizon
than at the zenith. This appearance is not optical, for
as the micrometre proves, the eye receives the image of
the moon at the zenith, at an even greater angle of vision
than at the horizon. The mistake is due to the under-
standing, which assumes that the cause of the feebler light
of the moon and of all stars at the horizon is that they
are further off, thus treating them as earthly objects,
according to the laws of atmospheric perspective, and
therefore it takes the moon to be much larger at the
horizon than at the zenith, and also regards the vault of
heaven as more extended or flattened out at the horizon.
The same false application of the laws of atmospheric
perspective leads us to suppose that very high mountains,
whose summits alone are visible in pure transparent air,
are much nearer than they really are, and therefore not
so high as they are ; for example, Mont Blanc seen from
Salenche. All such illusions are immediately present to
us as perceptions, and cannot be dispelled by any argu-
ments of the reason. Keason can only prevent error,
that is, a judgment on insufficient grounds, by opposing
to it a truth; as for example, the abstract knowledge
that the cause of the weaker light of the moon and the
stars at the horizon is not greater distance, but the denser
atmosphere ; but in all the cases we have referred to, the
illusion remains in spite of every abstract explanation.
For the understanding is in itself, even in the case of
man7 irrational, and is completely and sharply dis-
tinguished from the reason, which is a faculty of know-
ledge that belongs to man alone. The reason can only
know; perception remains free from its influence and
belongs to the understanding alone.

5 7. With reference to our exposition up to this point,

32 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

it must be observed that we did not start either from
the object or the subject, but from the idea, which con-
tains and presupposes them both ; for the antithesis of
object and subject is its primary, universal and essential
form. We have therefore first considered this form as
such ; then (though in this respect reference has for the
most part been made to the introductory essay) the sub-
ordinate forms of time, space and causality. The latter
belong exclusively to the object, and yet, as they are
essential to the object as such, and as the object again
is essential to the subject as such, they may be dis-
covered from the subject, i.e., they may be known a priori,
and so far they are to be regarded as the common limits
of both. But all these forms may be referred to one
general expression, the principle of sufficient reason, as
we have explained in the introductory essay.

This procedure distinguishes our philosophical method
from that of all former systems. For they all start either
from the object or from the subject, and therefore seek to
explain the one from the other, and this according to
the principle of sufficient reason. We^on the contrary,
deny the validity of this principle with reference to the
relation of subject and object, and confine it to the object.
It may be thought that the philosophy of identity, which
has appeared and become generally known in our own
day, does not come under either of the alternatives we
have named, for it does not start either from the subject
or from the object, but from the absolute, known through
" intellectual intuition," which is neither object nor subject,
but the identity of the two. I will not venture to speak
of this revered identity, and this absolute, for I find my-
self entirely devoid of all " intellectual intuition." But
as I take my stand merely on those manifestoes of tho
" intellectual intuiter " which are open to all, even to pro-
fane persons like myself, I must yet observe that this
philosophy is not to be excepted from the alternative
errors mentioned above. For it does rot escape these

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 33

two opposite errors in spite of its identity of subject and
object, which is not thinkable, but only " intellectually
intuitable," or to be experienced by a losing of oneself in
it. On the contrary, it combines them both in itself;
for it is divided into two parts, firstly, transcendental
idealism, which is just Fichte's doctrine of the ego, and
therefore teaches that the object is produced by the sub-
ject, or evolved out of it in accordance with the principle
of sufficient reason ; secondly, the philosophy of nature,
which teaches that the subject is produced little by little
from the object, by means of a method called construc-
tion, about which I understand very little, yet enough to
know that it is a process according to various forms of
the principle of sufficient reason. The deep wisdom itself
which that construction contains, I renounce; for as I
entirely lack " intellectual intuition," all those expositions
which presuppose it must for me remain as a book sealed
with seven seals. This is so truly the case that, strange
to say, I have always been unable to find anything at all
in this doctrine of profound wisdom but atrocious and
wearisome bombast.

The systems starting from the object had always the
whole world of perception and its constitution as
their problem ; yet the object which they take as their
starting-point is not always this whole world of percep-
tion, nor its fundamental element, matter. On the
contrary, a division of these systems may be made, based
on the four classes of possible objects set forth in the
introductory essay. Thus Thales and the Ionic school,
Democritus, Epicurus, Giordano Bruno, and the .French
materialists, may be said to have started from the first
class of objects, the real world: Spinoza (on account of
his conception of substance, which is purely abstract, and
exists only in his definition) and, earlier, the Eleatics, from
the second class, the abstract conception: the Pytha-
goreans and Chinese philosophy in Y-King, from the
third class, time, and consequently number: and, lastly,

vol. I. c

34 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

the schoolmen, who teach a creation out of nothing by
the act of will of an extra-mundane personal being,
started from the fourth class of objects, the act of will
directed by knowledge.

Of all systems of philosophy which start from the
object, the most consistent, and that which may be carried
furthest, is simple materialism. It regards matter, and
t with it time and space, as existing absolutely, and ignores
the relation to the subject in which alone all this really
exists. It then lays hold of the law of causality as a
guiding principle or clue, regarding it as a self-existent
order (or arrangement) of things, Veritas aeterna, and so
fails to take account of the understanding, in which and
for which alone causality is. It seeks the primary and
most simple state of matter, and then tries to develop all
the others from it ; ascending from mere mechanism, to
chemism, to polarity, to the vegetable and to the animal
kingdom. And if we suppose this to have been done,
the last link in the chain would be animal sensibility —
that is knowledge — which would consequently now
appear as a mere modification or state of matter produced
by causality. Now if we had followed materialism thus
far with clear ideas, when we reached its highest point
we would suddenly be seized with a fit of the inex-
tinguishable laughter of the Olympians. As if waking
from a dream, we would all at once become aware that
its final result — knowledge, which it reached so labori-
ously, was presupposed as the indispensable condition of
its very starting-point, mere matter; and when we
imagined that we thought matter, we really thought only
the subject that perceives matter ; the eye that sees it,
the hand that feels it, the understanding that knows it
Thus the tremendous petitio principii reveals itself unex-
pectedly; for suddenly the last link is seen to be the
starting-point, the chain a circle, and the materialist is
like Baron Munchausen who, when swimming in water
on horseback, drew the horse into the air with his legs,

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 35

and himself also by his cue. The fundamental absurdity
of materialism is that it starts from the objective, and
takes as the ultimate ground of explanation something
objective, whether it be matter in the abstract, simply as
it is thought, or after it has taken form, is empirically
given — that is to say, is substance, the chemical element
with its primary relations. Some such thing it takes,
as existing absolutely and in itself, in order that it may
evolve organic nature and finally the knowing subject
from it, and explain them adequately by means of it ;
whereas in truth all that is objective is already deter-
mined as such in manifold ways by the knowing subject
through its forms of knowing, and presupposes them; and
consequently it entirely disappears if we think the subject
away. Thus materialism is the attempt to explain what
is immediately given us by what is given us indirectly, f
All that is objective, extended, active— that is to say, all
that is material — is regarded by materialism as affording
so solid a basis for its explanation, that a reduction of
everything to this can leave nothing to be desired
(especially if in ultimate analysis this reduction should
resolve itself into action and reaction). But we have
shown that all this is given indirectly and in the highest
degree determined, and is therefore merely a relatively
present object, for it has passed through the machinery
and manufactory of the brain, and has thus come under
the forms of space, time and causality, by means of which
it is first presented to us as extended in space and ever
active in time. From such an indirectly given object,
materialism seeks to explain what is immediately given,
the idea (in which alone the object that materialism
starts with exists), and finally even the will from which all
those fundamental forces, that manifest themselves, under
the guidance of causes, and therefore according to law,
are in truth to be explained. To the assertion that
thought is a modification of matter we may always,
with equal right, oppose the contrary assertion that all

36 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

matter is merely the modification of the knowing subject,
as its idea. Yet the aim and ideal of all natural science
is at bottom a consistent materialism. The recognition
here of the obvious impossibility of such a system
establishes another truth which will appear in the course
of our exposition, the truth that all science properly so
called, by which I understand systematic knowledge
under the guidance of the principle of sufficient reason,
can never reach its final goal, nor give a complete and
adequate explanation : for it is not concerned with the
inmost nature of the world, it cannot get beyond the idea ;
indeed, it really teaches nothing more than the relation
of one idea to another.

Every science must start from two principal data.
One of these is always the principle of sufficient reason
in some form or another, as organon ; the other is its
special object as problem. Thus, for example, geometry
has space as problem, and the ground of existence in
space as organon. Arithmetic has time as problem, and
the ground of existence in time as organon. Logic has
the combination of concepts as such as problem, and the
ground of knowledge as organon. History has the past
acts of men treated as a whole as problem, and the law
of human motives as organon. Natural science has
matter as problem, and the law of causality as organon.
Its end and aim is therefore, by the guidance of causality,
to refer all possible states of matter to other states, and
ultimately to one single state ; and again to deduce these
states from each other, and ultimately from one single
state. Thus two states of matter stand over against each
other in natural science as extremes : that state in which
matter is furthest from being the immediate object of the
subject, and that state in which it is most completely
such an immediate object, i.e., the most dead and crude
matter, the primary element, as the one extreme, and the
human organism as the other. Natural science as
chemistry seeks for the first, as physiology for the second.

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 37

But as yet neither extreme has been reached, and it is
only in the intermediate ground that something has been
won. The prospect is indeed somewhat hopeless. The
chemists, under the presupposition that the qualitative
division of matter is not, like quantitative division, an
endless process, are always trying to decrease the num-
ber of the elements, of which there are still about
sixty ; and if they were to succeed in reducing them to
two, they would still try to find the common root of
these. For, on the one hand, the law of homogeneity
leads to the assumption of a primary chemical state of
matter, which alone belongs to matter as such, and pre-
cedes all others which are not essentially matter as such,
but merely contingent forms and qualities. On the other
hand, we cannot understand how this one state could
ever experience a chemical change, if there did not exist
a second state to affect it. Thus the same difficulty
appears in chemistry which Epicurus met with in
mechanics. For he had to show how the first atom de-
parted from the original direction of its motion. Indeed
this contradiction, which develops entirely of itself and
can neither be escaped nor solved, might quite property
be set up as a chemical antinomy. Thus an antinomy
appears in the one extreme of natural science, and a
corresponding one will appear in the other. There is just
as little hope of reaching this opposite extreme of natural
science, for we see ever more clearly that what is chemi-
cal can never be referred to what is mechanical, nor what
is organic to what is chemical or electrical. Those who
in our own day are entering anew on this old, misleading
path, will soon slink back silent and ashamed, as all their
predecessors have done before them. "We shall consider
this more fully in the second book. Natural science en-
counters the difficulties which we have cursorily men-
tioned, in its own province. Eegarded as philosophy, it
would further be materialism ; but this, as we have seen,
even at its birth, has death in its heart, because it ignores

38 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

the subject and the forms of knowledge, which are
presupposed, just as much in the case of the crudest
matter, from which it desires to start, as in that of the
organism, at which it desires to arrive. For, " no object
without a subject," is the principle which renders all
materialism for ever impossible. Suns and planets
without an eye that sees them, and an understanding
that knows them, may indeed be spoken of in words, but
for the idea, these words are absolutely meaningless. On
the other hand, the law of causality and the treatment
and investigation of nature which is based upon it, lead us
necessarily to the conclusion that, in time, each more highly
organised state of matter has succeeded a cruder state : so
that the lower animals existed before men, fishes before
land animals, plants before fishes, and the unorganised
before all that is organised ; that, consequently, the ori-
ginal mass had to pass through a long series of changes
before the first eye could be opened. And yet, the ex-
istence of this whole world remains ever dependent upon
the first eye that opened, even if it were that of an in-
sect. For such an eye is a necessary condition of the
possibility of knowledge, and the whole world exists only
in and for knowledge, and without it is not even think-
able. The world is entirely idea, and as such demands
the knowing subject as the supporter of its existence.
This long course of time itself, filled with innumerable
changes, through which matter rose from form to form
till at last the first percipient creature appeared, — this
whole time itself is only thinkable in the identity of a
consciousness whose succession of ideas, whose form of
knowing it is, and apart from which, it loses all meaning
and is nothing at alL Thus we see, on the one hand, the
existence of the whole world necessarily dependent upon
the first conscious being, however undeveloped it may be ;
on the other hand, this conscious being just as neces-
sarily entirely dependent upon a long chain of causes and
effects which have preceded it, and in which it itself

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 39

appears as a small link. These two contradictory points
of view, to each of which we are led with the same neces-
sity, we might again call an antimmy in our faculty of
knowledge, and set it up as the counterpart of that which
we found in the first extreme of natural science. The
fourfold antinomy of Kant will be shown, in the criti-
cism of his philosophy appended to this volume, to be a
groundless delusion. But the necessary contradiction
which at last presents itself to us here, finds its solution
in the fact that, to use Kant's phraseology, time, space,
and causality do not belong to the thing-in-itself, but
only to its phenomena, of which they are the form ; which
in my language means this : The objective world, the
world as idea, is not the only side of the world, but merely
its outward side ; and it has an entirely different side —
the side of its inmost nature — its kernel — the thing-
in-itself. This we shall consider in the second book,
calling it after the most immediate of its objective mani-
festations— will. But the world as idea, with which
alone we are here concerned, only appears with the open-
ing of the first eye. Without this medium of knowledge
it cannot be, and ' therefore it was not before it. But
without that eye, that is to say, outside of knowledge,
there was also no before, no time. Thus time has no be-
ginning, but all beginning is in time. Since, however, it is
the most universal form of the knowable, in which all
phenomena are united together through causality, time,
with its infinity of past and future, is present in the be-
ginning of knowledge. The phenomenon which fills the
first present must at once be known as causally bound
up with and dependent upon a sequence of phenomena
which stretches infinitely into the past, and this past it-
self is just as truly conditioned by this first present, as
conversely the present is by the past. Accordingly the
past out of which the first present arises, is, like it, de-
pendent upon the knowing subject, without which it is
nothing. It necessarily happens, however, that this first

40 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

present does not manifest itself as the first, that is, as
having no past for its parent, but as being the beginning
of time. It manifests itself rather as the consequence of
the past, according to the principle of existence in time.
In the same way, the phenomena which fill this first present
appear as the effects of earlier phenomena which filled
the past, in accordance with the law of causality. Those
who like mythological interpretations may take the birth
of Kronos (xpovo<;), the youngest of the Titans, as a sym-
bol of the moment here referred to at which time appears,
though, indeed it has no beginning ; for with him, since
he ate his father, the crude productions of heaven and
earth cease, aud the races of gods and men appear upon
the scene.

This explanation at which we have arrived by follow-
ing the most consistent of the philosophical systems
which start from the object, materialism, has brought out
clearly the inseparable and reciprocal dependence of sub-
ject and object, and at the same time the inevitable
antithesis between them. And this knowledge leads us
to seek for the inner nature of the world, the thing-in-
itself, not in either of the two elements of the idea, but
in something quite distinct from it, and which is not
encumbered with such a fundamental and insoluble
antithesis.

Opposed to the system we have explained, which starts
from the object in order to derive the subject from it, is
the system which starts from the subject and tries to
derive the object from it. The first of these has been of
frequent and common occurrence throughout the history
of philosophy, but of the second we find only one ex-
ample, and that a very recent one ; the " philosophy of
appearance " of J. G. Fichte. In this respect, therefore,
it must be considered ; little real worth or inner meaning
as the doctrine itself had. It was indeed fur the most
part merely a delusion, but it was delivered with an air*
of the deepest earnestness, with sustained loftiness of

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 4*

tone and zealous ardour, and was defended with eloquent
polemic against weak opponents, so that it was able to
present a brilliant exterior and seemed to be something.
But the genuine earnestness which keeps truth always
steadfastly before it as its goal, and is unaffected by any
external influences, was entirely wanting to Fichte, as it
is to all philosophers who, like him, concern themselves
with questions of the day. In his case, indeed, it could
not have been otherwise. A man becomes a philosopher
by reason of a certain perplexity, from which he seeks
to free himself. This is Plato's dav/iagecv, which he
calls a fjiaXa $i\ooo$ucov ttg&o?. But what distinguishes
the false philosopher from the true is this : the perplexity
of the latter arises from the contemplation of the world
itself, while that of the former results from some book,
some system of philosophy which is before him. Now
Fichte belongs to the class of the false philosophers.
He was made a philosopher by Kant's doctrine of the
thing-in-itself, and if it had not been for this he would
probably have pursued entirely different ends, with far
better results, for he certainly possessed remarkable
rhetorical talent. If he had only penetrated somewhat
deeply into the meaning of the book that made him a
philosopher, "The Critique of Pure Reason," he would
have understood that its principal teaching about mind
is this. The principle of sufficient reason is not, as all
scholastic philosophy maintains, a Veritas aeterna — that is
to say, it does not possess an unconditioned validity before,
outside of, and above the world. It is relative and con-
ditioned, and valid only in the sphere of phenomena, and
thus it may appear as the necessary nexus of space and
time, or as the law of causality, or as the law of the
ground of knowledge. The inner nature of the world,
the thing-in-itself can never be found by the guidance of
this principle, for all that it leads to will be found to be
dependent and relative and merely phenomenal, not the
thing-in-itself. Further, it does not concern the subject,

42 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

but is only the form of objects, which are therefore not
things-in-themselves. The subject must exist along with
the object, and the object along with the subject, so that
it is impossible that subject and object can stand to each
other in a relation of reason and consequent. But Fichte
did not take up the smallest fragment of all this. All
that interested him about the matter was that the system
started from the subject Now Kant had chosen this
procedure in order to show the fallacy of the prevalent
systems, which started from the object, and through
which the object had come to be regarded as a thing-in-
itself. Fichte, however, took this departure from the
subject for the really important matter, and like all imita-
tors, he imagined that in going further than Kant he was
surpassing him. Thus he repeated the fallacy with
regard to the subject, which all the previous dogmatism
had perpetrated with regard to the object, and which
had been the occasion of Kant's " Critique." Fichte
then made no material change, and the fundamental
fallacy, the assumption of a relation of reason and con-
sequent between object and subject, remained after him
as it was before him. The principle of sufficient reason
possessed as before an unconditioned validity, and the
only difference was that the thing-in-itself was now
placed in the subject instead of, as formerly, in the
object. The entire relativity of both subject and object,
which proves that the thing-in-itself, or the inner nature
of the world, is not to be sought in them at all, but
outside of them, and outside everything else that exists
merely relatively, still remained unknown. Just as if
Kant had never existed, the principle of sufficient reason
is to Fichte precisely what it was to all the schoolmen, a
Veritas aeterna. As an eternal fate reigned over the gods
of old, so these aeternce veritates, these metaphysical,
mathematical and metalogical truths, and in the case of
some, the validity of the moral law also, reigned over the
God of the schoolmen. These veritatcs alone were inde-

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 43

pendent of everything, and through their necessity both
God and the world existed. According to the principle
of sufficient reason, as such a Veritas aeterna, the ego is
for Fichte the ground of the world, or of the non-ego, the
object, which is just its consequent, its creation. He
has therefore taken good care to avoid examining further
or limiting the principle of sufficient reason. If, how-
ever, it is thought I should specify the form of the
principle of sufficient reason under the guidance of which
Fichte derives the non-ego from the ego, as a spider spins its
web out of itself, I find that it is the principle of sufficient
reason of existence in space : for it is only as referred to
this that some kind of meaning and sense can be attached
to the laboured deductions of the way in which the ego
produces and fabricates the non-ego from itself, which form
the content of the most senseless, and consequently the
most wearisome book that was ever written. ^ This
philosophy of Fichte, otherwise not worth mentioning, is
interesting to us only as the tardy expression of the con-
verse of the old materialism. For materialism was the
most consistent system starting from the object, as this
is the most consistent system starting from the subject.
Materialism overlooked the fact that, with the simplest
object, it assumed the subject also; and Fichte over-
looked the fact that with the subject (whatever he may
call it) he assumed the object also, for no subject is
thinkable without an object. Besides this he forgot
that all a priori deduction, indeed all demonstration in
general, must rest upon some necessity, and that all
necessity is based on the principle of sufficient reason,
because to be necessary, and to follow from given grounds
are convertible conceptions.1 But the principle of suffi-
cient reason is just the universal form of the object
as such. Thus it is in the object, but is not valid before

i On this see " The Fourfold Root of the Principle of Sufficient Reason,"
§49-

44 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

and outside of it ; it first produces the object and makea
it appear in conformity with its regulative principle.
We see then that the system which starts from the sub-
ject contains the same fallacy as the system, explained
above, which starts from the object ; it begins by assum-
ing what it proposes to deduce, the necessary correlative
of its starting-point.

The method of our own system is toto genere distinct
from these two opposite misconceptions, for we start
neither from the object nor from the subject, but from
the idea, as the first fact of consciousness. Its first
essential, fundamental form is the antithesis of subject
and object. The form of the object again is the prin-
ciple of sufficient reason in its various forms. Each of
these reigns so absolutely in its own class of ideas that,
as we have seen, when the special form of the principle
of sufficient reason which governs any class of ideas is
known, the nature of the whole class is known also : for
the whole class, as idea, is no more than this form of the
principle of sufficient reason itself; so that time itself is
nothing but the principle of existence in it, ie.t succession;
space is nothing but the principle of existence in it, i.c.t
position; matter is nothing but causality; the concept
(as will appear immediately) is nothing but relation to a
ground of knowledge. This thorough and consistent
relativity of the world aT13ea, both according to its
universal form (subject and object), and according to the
form which is subordinate to this (the principle of suffi-
cient reason) warns us, as we said before, to seek the
inncir nature of the world in an aspect of it which is
quite different and quite distinct from the idea; and in
the next book we shall find this in a fact which is just
as immediate to every living being as the idea,

• But we must first consider that class of ideas which
belongs to man alone. The matter of these is the con-
cept, and the subjective correlative is reason, just as the
subjective correlative of the ideas we have already con-

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 45

sidered was understanding and sensibility, which are also

rbe attributed to all the lower animals.1
§ 8. As from the direct light of the sun to the borrowed
light of the moon, we pass from the immediate idea of
perception, which stands by itself and is its own warrant,
to reflection, to the abstract, discursive concepts of the
reason, which obtain their whole content from know-
ledge of perception, and in relation to it. As long as
we continue simply to perceive, all is clear, firm, and
certain. There are neither questions nor doubts nor
errors; we desire to go no further, can go no further;
we find rest in perceiving, and satisfaction in the present.
Perception suffices for itself, and therefore what springs
purely from it, and remains true to it, for example, a
genuine work of art, can never be false, nor can it be
discredited through the lapse of time, for it does not
present an opinion but the thing itself. But with
abstract knowledge, with reason, doubt and error appear
in the theoretical, care and sorrow in the practical. In
the idea of perception, illusion may at moments take the
j place of the real ; but in the sphere of abstract thought,
error may reign for a thousand years, impose its yoke
/ upon whole nations, extend to the noblest impulses of
^ humanity, and, by the help of its slaves and its dupes,
may chain and fetter those whom it cannot deceive. It
is the enemy against which the wisest men of all times
have waged unequal war, and only what they have won
from it has become the possession of mankind. There-
fore it is well to draw attention to it at once, as we
already tread the ground to which its province belongs.
It has often been said that we ought to follow truth even
although no utility can be seen in it, because it may have
indirect utility which may appear when it is least ex-
pected; and I would add to this, that we ought to be
just as anxious to discover and to root out all error even

1 The first four chapters of the first of the supplementary books belong
to these seven paragraphs.

46 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

when no harm is anticipated from it, because its mischief-
may be very indirect, and may suddenly appear when
we do not expect it, for all error has poison at its heart.
If it is mind, if it is knowledge, that makes man the lord
of creation, there can be no such thing as harmless error,
still less venerable and holy error. And for the consola-
tion of those who in any way and at any time may have
devoted strength and life to the noble and hard battle
against error, I cannot refrain from adding that, so long
as truth is absent, error will have free play, as owls and
bats in the night; but sooner would we expect to see
the owls and the bats drive back the sun in the eastern
heavens, than that any truth whicli has once been known
and distinctly and fully expressed, can ever again be so
utterly vanquished and overcome that the old error shall
once more reign undisturbed over its wide kingdom. This
is the power of truth ; its conquest is slow and laborious,
but if once the victory be gained it can never be wrested
back again.

Besides the ideas we have as yet considered, which,
according to their construction, could be referred to time,
space, and matter, if we consider them with reference to
the object, or to pure sensibility and understanding (i.e.,
knowledge of causality), if we consider them with
reference to the subject, another faculty of knowledge
has appeared in man alone of all earthly creatures, an
entirely new consciousness, which, with very appropriate
and significant exactness, is called reflection. For it is in
fact derived from the knowledge of perception, and is a
reflected appearance of it. But it has assumed a nature
fundamentally different. The forms of perception do not
affect it, and even the principle of sufficient reason which
reigns over all objects has an entirely different aspect with
regard to it It is just this new, more highly endowed,
consciousness, this abstract reflex of all that belongs to
perception in that conception of the reason which has
nothing to do with perception, that gives to man that

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 47

thoughtfulness which distinguishes his consciousness so
entirely from that of the lower animals, and through
which his whole behaviour upon earth is so different from
that of his irrational fellow-creatures. He far surpasses
them in power and also in suffering. They live in the \[
present alone, he lives also in the future and the past.. \
They satisfy the needs of the moment, he provides by the
most ingenious preparations for the future, yea for days
that he shall never see. They are entirely dependent on the
impression of the moment, on the effect of the perceptible
motive ; he is determined by abstract conceptions inde-
pendent of the present. Therefore he follows predeter-
mined plans, he acts from maxims, without reference to
his surroundings or the accidental impression of the
moment. Thus, for example, he can make with com-
posure deliberate preparations for his own death, he can
dissemble past finding out, and can carry his secret with
him to the grave ; lastly, he has an actual choice between i
several motives; for only in the abstract can such
motives, present together in consciousness, afford the
knowledge with regard to themselves, that the one ex-
cludes the other, and can thus measure themselves
against each other with reference to their power over the
will The motive that overcomes, in that it decides the
question at issue, is the deliberate determinant of the
will, and is a sure indication of its character. The brute,
on the other hand, is determined by the present im-
pression ; only the fear of present compulsion can
constrain its desires, until at last this fear has become
custom, and as such continues to determine it ; this is
called training. The brute feels and perceives ; man, in
addition to this, thinks and knows : both will. The brute
expresses its feelings and dispositions by gestures and
sounds ; man communicates his thought to others, or, if
he wishes, he conceals it, by means of speech. Speech
is the first production, and also the necessary organ of
his reason. Therefore in Greek and Italian, speech and

48 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

reason are expressed by the same word ; 6 \oyos, il
discorso. Vcmunft is derived from vemchmen, which
is not a synonym for the verb to hear, but signi-
fies the consciousness of the meaning of thoughts com-
municated in words. It is by the help of language alone
that reason accomplishes its most important achieve-
ments,— the united action of several individuals, the
planned co-operation of many thousands, civilisation, the
state; also science, the storing up of experience, the
uniting of common properties in one concept, the com-
munication of truth, the spread of error, thoughts and
poems, dogmas and superstitions. The brute first knows
death when it dies, but man draws consciously nearer to
it every hour that he lives ; and this makes life at times
a questionable good even to him who has not recognised
this character of constant annihilation in the whole of
life. Principally on this account man has philosophies
and religions, though it is uncertain whether the qualities
we admire most in his conduct, voluntary rectitude and
nobility of feeling, were ever the fruit of either of them.
As results which certainly belong only to them, and as
productions of reason in this sphere, we may refer to
the marvellous and monstrous opinions of philosophers of
various schools, and the extraordinary and sometimes
cruel customs of the priests of different religions.

It is the universal opinion of all times and of all
nations that these manifold and far-reaching achieve-
ments spring from a common principle, from that peculiar
intellectual power which belongs distinctively to man
and which has been called reason, 6 \oyos, to Xoyiariicov,
to XoyifMop, ratio. Besides this, no one finds any diffi-
culty in recognising the manifestations of this faculty,
and in saying what is rational and what is irrational,
where reason appears as distinguished from the other
faculties and qualities of man, or lastly, in pointing out
what, on account of the want of reason, we must never
expect even from the most sensible brute. The philoso-

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 49

pliers of all ages may be said to be on the whole at one
about this general knowledge of reason, and they have
also given prominence to several very important mani-
festations of it; such as, the control of the emotions
and passions, the capacity for drawing conclusions and
formulating general principles, even such as are true
prior to all experience, and so forth. Still all their ex-
planations of the peculiar nature of reason are wavering,
not clearly defined, discursive, without unity and con-
centration ; now laying stress on one manifestation, now
on another, and therefore often at variance with each
other. Besides this, many start from the opposition
between reason and revelation, a distinction which is
unknown to philosophy, and which only increases con-
fusion. It is very remarkable that up till now no
philosopher has referred these manifold expressions of.
reason to one simple function which would be recognised
in them all, from which they would all be explained, and
which would therefore constitute the real inner nature
of reason. It is true that the excellent Locke in the
"Essay on the Human Understanding" (Book II, ch. xi.,
§§ 10 and 1 1), very rightly refers to general concepts as
the characteristic which distinguishes man from the
brutes, and Leibnitz quotes this with full approval in the
I Nouveaux Essais sur TEntendement Humaine " (Book
II., ch. xi., §§ io and 1 1.) But when Locke (in Book IV.,
ch. xvii., §§ 2 and 3) comes to the special explanation of
reason he entirely loses sight of this simple, primary
characteristic, and he also falls into a wavering, undeter-
mined, incomplete account of mangled and derivative
manifestations of it. Leibnitz also, in the corresponding
part of his work, behaves in a similar manner, only with
more confusion and indistinctness. In the Appendix, 1
have fully considered how Kant confused and falsified
the conception of the nature of reason. But whoever
will take the trouble to go through in this reference the
mass of philosophical writing which has appeared since
vol. 1. D

5o THE WORLD AS IDEA.

Kant, will find out, that just as the faults of princes
must be expiated by whole nations, the errors of great
minds extend their influence over whole generations, and
even over centuries; they grow and propagate them-
selves, and finally degenerate into monstrosities. All this
arises from the fact that, as Berkeley says, "Few men
think ; yet all will have opinions."

The understanding has only one function — immediate
knowledge of the relation of cause and effect. Yet the
perception of the real world, and all common sense,
sagacity, and inventiveness, however multifarious their
applications may be, are quite clearly seen to be no-
thing more than manifestations of that one function. So
also the reason has one function ; and from it all the
manifestations of reason we have mentioned, which dis-
tinguish the life of man from that of the brutes, may
easily be explained. The application or the non-appli-
cation of this function is all that is meant by what
men have everywhere and always called rational and
irrational.1

§ 9. Concepts form a distinct class of ideas, existing
only in the mind of man, and entirely different from the
ideas of perception which we have considered up till
now. We can therefore never attain to a sensuous and,
properly speaking, evident knowledge of their nature,
but only to a knowledge which is abstract and discursive.
It would, therefore, be absurd to demand that they should
be verified in experience, if by experience is meant the
real external world, winch consists of ideas of perception,
or that they should be brought before the eyes or the
imagination like objects of perception. They can only
be thought, not perceived, and only the effects which
men accomplish through them are properly objects of ex-
perience. Such effects are language, preconceived and
planned action and science, and all that results from these.

1 Compare with this paragraph §§ essay on the principle of sufficient
26 and 27 of the third edition of the reason.

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 51

Speech, as an object of outer experience, is obviously no-
thing more than a very complete telegraph, which com-
municates arbitrary signs with the greatest rapidity
and the finest distinctions of difference. But what do
these signs mean ? How are they interpreted ? When
some one speaks, do we at once translate his words into
pictures of the fancy, which instantaneously flash upon
us, arrange and link themselves together, and assume
form and colour according to the words that are poured
forth, and their grammatical inflections ? What a
tumult there would be in our brains while we listened
to a speech, or to the reading of a book ? But what
actually happens is not this at all. The meaning of
a speech is, as a rule, immediately grasped, accurately
and distinctly taken in, without the imagination being
brought into play. It is reason which speaks to reason^
keeping within its own province. It communicates and
receives abstract conceptions, ideas that cannot be pre-
sented in perceptions, which are framed once for all, and
are relatively few in number, but which yet encompass,
contain, and represent all the innumerable objects of the
actual world. This itself is sufficient to prove that the
lower animals can never learn to speak or comprehend,
although they have the organs of speech and ideas of
perception in common with us. But because words
represent this perfectly distinct class of ideas, whose
subjective correlative is reason, they are without sense
and meaning for the brutes. Thus language, like every
other manifestation which we ascribe to reason, and like
everything which distinguishes man from the brutes, is to
be explained from this as its one simple source — concep-
tions, abstract ideas which cannot be presented in percep-
tion, but are general, and have no individual existence
j^i space and time. Only in single cases do we pass
from the conception to the perception, do we construct
images as representatives of concepts in perception, to
Nvhich, however, they are never adequate. These cases

52 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

are fully discussed in the essay on the principle ol
sufficient reason, §28, and therefore I shall not repeat
my explanation here. It may bo compared, however,
with what is said by Hume in the twelfth of his " Philo-
sophical Essays," p. 244, and by Herder in the " Metacri-
tik," pt i. p. 274 (an otherwise worthless book). The
Platonic idea, the possibility of which depends upon the
union of imagination and reason, is the principal subject
of the third book of this work.

Although concepts are fundamentally different from
ideas of perception, they stand in a necessary relation
to them, without which they would be nothing. This
relation therefore constitutes the whole nature and exist-
ence of concepts. Befiection is the necessary copy or
repetition of the originally presented world of perception,
but it is a special kind of copy in an entirely different
material Thus concepts may quite properly be called
Hdeas of ideas. The principle of sufficient reason has
here also a special form. Now we have seen that the
form under which the principle of sufficient reason
appears in a class of ideas always constitutes and ex-
hausts the whole nature of the class, so far as it consists
of ideas, so that time is throughout succession, and
nothing more ; space is throughout position, and nothing
more ; matter is throughout causation, and nothing more.
In the same way the whole nature of concepts, or the
class of abstract ideas, consists simply in the relation
which the principle of sufficient reason expresses in them;
and as this is the relation to the ground of knowledge,
the whole nature of the abstract idea is simply and solely
its relation to another idea, which is its ground of know-
ledge. This, indeed, may, in the first instance, be a
concept, an abstract idea, and this again may have only
a similar abstract ground of knowledge ; but the chain
of grounds of knowledge does not extend ad infinitum;
it must end at last in a concept which has its ground in
knowledge of perception ; for the whole world of reflec-

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 53

tion rests on the world of perception as its ground of
knowledge. Hence the class of abstract ideas is in this
respect distinguished from other classes; in the latter
the principle of sufficient reason always demands merely
a relation to another idea of the same class, but in the
case of abstract ideas, it at last demands a relation to an
idea of another class.

Those concepts which, as has just been pointed out,
are not immediately related to the world of perception,
but only through the medium of one, or it may be several
other concepts, have been called by preference abstracta,
and those which have their ground immediately in the
world of perception have been called concreta. But this
last name is only loosely applicable to the concepts
denoted by it, for they are always merely abstracta, and
not ideas of perception. These names, which have
originated in a very dim consciousness of the distinctions
they imply, may yet, with this explanation, be retained.
As examples of the first kind of concepts, i.e., abstracta
in the fullest sense, we may take ' relation,' ' virtue,'
'investigation,' 'beginning,' and so on. As examples of
the second kind, loosely called concreta, we may take-
such concepts as 'man,' 'stone,' 'horse,' &c. If it were
not a somewhat too pictorial and therefore absurd simile,
we might very appropriately call the latter the ground
floor, and the former the upper stories of the building of
reflection.1

It is not, as is commonly supposed, an essential char-
acteristic of a concept that it should contain much under
it, that is to say, that many ideas of perception, or it
may be other abstract ideas, should stand to it in the
relation of its ground of knowledge, i.e., be thought
through it. This is merely a derived and secondary
characteristic, and, as a matter of fact, does not always
exist, though it must always exist potentially. This
characteristic arises from the fact that a concept is an

1 Cf. Ch. 5 and 6 of the Supplement.

54 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

idea of an idea, i.e.} its whole nature consists in its rela-
tion to another idea; but as it is not this idea itself,
which is generally an idea of perception and therefore
belongs to quite a different class, the latter may have
temporal, spacial, and other determinations, and in general
many relations which are not thought along with it in
the concept. Thus we see that several ideas which are
different in unessential particulars may be thought by
means of one concept, i.e., may be brought under it.
Yet this power of embracing several things is not an
essential but merely an accidental characteristic of the
concept There may be concepts through which only one
real object is thought, but which are nevertheless abstract
and general, by no means capable of presentation indivi-
dually and as perceptions. Such, for example, is the
conception which any one may have of a particular town
which he only knows from geography; although only
this one town is thought under it, it might yet be applied
to several towns differing in certain respects. We see
then that a concept is not general because of being
abstracted from several objects ; but conversely, because
generality, that is to say, non-determination of the par-
ticular, belongs to the concept as an abstract idea of the
reason, different things can be thought by means of the
same one.

It follows from what has been said that every con-
cept, just because it is abstract and incapable of
presentation in perception, and is therefore not a com-
pletely determined idea, has what is called extension or
sphere, even in the case in which only one real object
exists that corresponds to it. Now we always find that
the sphere of one concept has something in common with
the sphere of other concepts. That is to say, part of
what is thought under one concept is the same as what
is thought under other concepts ; and conversely, part of
what is thought under these conoepts is the same as
what is thought under the first ; although, if they are

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 55

really different concepts, each of them, or at least one of
them, contains something which the other does not con-
tain ; this is the relation in which every subject stands *
to its predicate. The recognition of this relation is called
judgment. The representation of these spheres by means
of figures in space, is an exceedingly happy idea. It
first occurred to Gottfried Plouquet, who used squares for
the purpose. Lambert, although later than him, used
only lines, which he placed under each other. Euler
carried out the idea completely with circles. Upon
what this complete analogy between the relations of
concepts, and those of figures in space, ultimately rests, I
am unable to say. It is, however, a very fortunate
circumstance for logic that all the relations of concepts,
according to their possibility, i.e., a priori, may be made
plain in perception by the use of such figures, in the
following way : —

( 1 .) The spheres of two concepts coincide : for ex-
ample the concept of necessity and the concept of
following from given grounds, in the same way the
concepts of Buminantia and Bisulca (ruminating and
cloven-hoofed animals), also those of vertebrate and red-
blooded animals (although there might be some doubt
about this on account of the annelida) : they are con-
vertible concepts. Such concepts are represented by a
single circle which stands for either of them.

(2.) The sphere of one concept includes that of the
other.

56

THE WORLD AS IDEA.

(3.) A sphere includes two or more spheres which
exclude each other and fill it.

(4.) Two spheres include each a part of the other

(5.) Two spheres lie in a third, but do not fill it

This last case applies to all concepts whose spheres
have nothing immediately in common, for there is always
a third sphere, often a much wider one, which includes
both.

To these cases all combinations of concepts may be
referred, and from them the entire doctrine of the judg-
ment, its conversion, contraposition, equipollence, disjunc-
tion (this according to the third figure) may be deduced

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 57

From these also may be derived the properties of the
judgment, upon which Kant based his pretended cate-
gories of the understanding, with the exception however
of the hypothetical form, which is not a combination of
concepts, but of judgments. A full account is given in
the Appendix of " Modality," and indeed of every property
of judgments on which the categories are founded.

With regard to the possible combinations of concepts
which we have given, it has only further to be remarked
that they may also be combined with each other in many
ways. For example, the fourth figure with the second.
Only if one sphere, which partly or wholly contains
another, is itself contained in a third sphere, do these
together exemplify the syllogism in the first figure, i.e.,
that combination of judgments, by means of which it is
known that a concept which is partly or wholly con-
tained in another concept, is also contained in a third
concept, which again contains the first : and also, con-
versely, the negation; the pictorial representation of
which can, of course, only be two connected spheres
which do not lie within a third sphere. If many spheres
are brought together in this way we get a long train of
syllogisms. This schematism of concepts, which has
already been fairly well explained in more than one text-
book, may be used as the foundation of the doctrine of
the judgment, and indeed of the whole syllogistic theory,
and in this way the treatment of both becomes very
easy and simple. Because, through it, all syllogistic rules
may be seen in their origin, and may be deduced and
explained. It is not necessary, however, to load the
memory with these rules, as logic is never of practical
use, but has only a theoretical interest for philosophy.
For although it may be said that logic is related to
rational thinking as thorough-bass is to music, or less
exactly, as ethics is to virtue, or aesthetics to art ; we
must yet remember that no one ever became an artist by
the study of aesthetics ; that a noble character was never

58 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

formed by the study of ethics ; that long before Raineau,
men composed correctly and beautifully, and that we do
not need to know thorough-bass in order to detect dis-
cords : and just as little do we need to know logic in
order to avoid being misled by fallacies. Yet it must be
conceded that thorough-bass is of the greatest use in
the practice of musical composition, although it may
not be necessary for the understanding of it ; and indeed
aesthetics and even ethics, though in a much less degree,
and for the most part negatively, may be of some use
in practice, so that we cannot deny them all practical
worth, but of logic even this much cannot be conceded.
It is nothing more than the knowledge in the abstract of
what every one knows in the concrete. Therefore we
call in the aid of logical rules, just as little to enable us
to construct a correct argument as to prevent us from
consenting to a false one, and the most learned logician
lays aside the rules of logic altogether in his actual
thought. This may be explained in the following way.
Every science is a system of general and therefore ab-
stract truths, laws, and rules with reference to a special
class of objects. The individual case coming under these
laws is determined in accordance with this general know-
ledge, which is valid once for all ; because such appli-
cation of the general principle is far easier than the
exhaustive investigation of the particular case; for the
general abstract knowledge which has once been obtained
is always more within our reach than the empirical in-
vestigation of the particular case. With logic, however, it
is just the other way. It is the general knowledge of /
the mode of procedure of the reason expressed in the J\
form of rules. It is reached by the introspection of/
reason, and by abstraction from all content. But this/
mode of procedure is necessary and essential to reasojtf,
so that it will never depart from it if left to itself. It
is, therefore, easier and surer to let it proceed itself
according to its nature in each particular case, than to

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 59

present to it the knowledge abstracted from this pro-
cedure in the form of a foreign and externally given
law. It is easier, because, while in the case of all other
sciences, the general rule is more within our reach than
the investigation of the particular case taken by itself ;
with the use of reason, on the contrary, its necessary pro-
cedure in a given case is always more within our reach
than the general rule abstracted from it; for that
which thinks in us is reason itself. It is surer, because a
mistake may more easily occur in such abstract know-
ledge, or in its application, than that a process of
reason should take place which would run contrary to
its essence and nature. Hence arises the remarkable
fact, that while in other sciences the particular case is
always proved by the rule, in logic, on the contrary, the
rule must always be proved from the particular case ;
and even the most practised logician, if he remark that in
some particular case he concludes otherwise than the rule
prescribes, will always expect to find a mistake in the rule
rather than in his own conclusion. To desire to make
practical use of logic means, therefore, to desire to derive
with unspeakable trouble, from general rules, that which
is immediately known with the greatest certainty in the
particular case. It is just as if a man were to consult
mechanics as to the motion of his body, and physiology as
to his digestion ; and whoever has learnt logic for prac-
tical purposes is like him who would teach a beaver to
make its own dam. Logic is, therefore, without practical
utility ; but it must nevertheless be retained, because it
has philosophical interest as the special knowledge of the
organisation and action of reason. It is rightly regarded
as a definite, self-subsisting, self-contained, complete, and
thoroughly safe discipline ; to be treated scientifically
for itself alone and independently of everything else, and
therefore to be studied at the universities. But it has
its real value, in relation to philosophy as a whole, in the
inquiry into the nature of knowledge, and indeed of

•

6o THE WORLD AS IDEA.

rational and abstract knowledge. Therefore the exposi-
tion of logic should not have so much the form of a prac-
tical science, should not contain merely naked arbitrary
rules for the correct formation of the judgment, the syllo-
gism, &c, but should rather be directed to the knowledge
of the nature of reason and the concept, and to the de-
tailed investigation of the principle of sufficient reason
of knowing. For logic is only a paraphrase of this prin-
ciple, and, more exactly, only of that exemplification of
it in which the ground that gives truth to the judgment
is neither empirical nor metaphysical, but logical or me-
talogical. Besides the principle of sufficient reason of
knowing, it is necessary to take account of the three re-
maining fundamental laws of thought, or judgments of
metalogical truth, so nearly related to it; and out of these
the whole science of reason grows. The nature of
thought proper, that is to say, of the judgment and the
syllogism, must be exhibited in the combination of the
spheres of concepts, according to the analogy of the
special schema, in the way shown above; and from all
this the rules of the judgment and the syllogism are to
be deduced by construction. The only practical use we
can make of logic is in a debate, when we can convict our
antagonist of his intentional fallacies, rather than of his
actual mistakes, by giving them their technical names.
By thus throwing into the background the practical aim
of logic, and bringing out its connection with the whole
scheme of philosophy as one of its chapters, we do not
think that we shall make the study of it less prevalent
than it is just now. For at the present day every one
who does not wish to remain uncultured, and to be
numbered with the ignorant and incompetent multitude,
must study speculative philosophy. For the nineteenth
century is a philosophical age, though by this we do not
mean either that it has philosophy, or that philosophy
governs it, but rather that it is ripe for philosophy, and,
therefore, stands in need of it. This is a sign of a high

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 61

degree of civilisation, and indeed, is a definite stage in
the culture of the ages.1

Though logic is of so little practical use, it cannot be
denied that it was invented for practical purposes. It
appears to me to have originated in the following way : —
As the love of debating developed among the Eleatics,
the Megarics, and the Sophists, and by degrees became
alrr u a passion, the confusion in which nearly every
debate ended must have made them feel the necessity
of a method of procedure as a guide ; and for this a
scientific dialectic had to be sought. The first thing
which would have to be observed would be that both
the disputing parties should always be agreed on some
one proposition, to which the disputed points might be
referred. The beginning of the methodical procedure
consisted in this, that the propositions admitted on both
sides were formally stated to be so, and placed at the
head of the inquiry. But these propositions were at
first concerned only with the material of the inquiry.
It was soon observed that in the process of going back
to the truth admitted on both sides, and of deducing
their assertions from it, each party followed certain forms
and laws about which, without any express agreement,
there was no difference of opinion. And from this it
became evident that these must constitute the peculiar
and natural procedure of reason itself, the form of
investigation. Although this was not exposed to any
doubt or difference of opinion, some pedantically
systematic philosopher hit upon the idea that it would
look well, and be the completion of the method of
dialectic, if this formal part of all discussion, this regular
procedure of reason itself, were to be expressed in abstract
propositions, just like the substantial propositions admitted
on both sides, and placed at the beginning of every
investigation, as the fixed canon of debate to which
reference and appeal must always be made. In this

1 Of. Ch. 9 and 10 of the Supplement.

62 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

way what had formerly been followed only by tacit
agreement, and instinctively, would be consciously re-
cognised and formally expressed. By degrees, more or
less perfect expressions were found for the fundamental
principles of logic, such as the principles of contradiction,
sufficient reason, excluded middle, the dictum de omni et
nullo, as well as the special rules of the syllogism, as for
example, ex vicris particular ibus aut negativis nihil sequi-
tur, a rationato ad rationem non valet consequentia, and
so on. That all this was only brought about slowly, and
with great pains, and up till the time of Aristotle re-
mained very incomplete, is evident from the awkward
and tedious way in which logical truths are brought out
in many of the Platonic dialogues, and still more from
what Sextus Empiricus tells us of the controversies of
the Megarics, about the easiest and simplest logical rules,
and the laborious way in which they were brought into
a definite form (Sext. Emp. adv. Math. 1. 8, p. 1 1 2).
But Aristotle collected, arranged, and corrected all that
had been discovered before his time, and brought it to
an incomparably greater state of perfection. If we thus
observe how the course of Greek culture had prepared
the way for, and led up to the work of Aristotle, we
shall be little inclined to believe the assertion of the
Persian author, quoted by Sir William Jones with much
approval, that Kallisthenes found a complete system of
logic among the Indians, and sent it to his uncle Aris-
totle (Asiatic Researches, vol. iv. p. 163). It is easy to
understand that in the dreary middle ages the Aristote-
lian logic would be very acceptable to the controversial
spirit of the schoolmen, which, in the absence of all real
knowledge, spent its energy upon mere formulas and
words, and that it would be eagerly adopted even in its
mutilated Arabian form, and presently established as the
centre of all knowledge. Though its authority has since
declined, yet up to our own time logic has retained the
credit of a self-contained, practical, and highly important

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 63

science. Indeed, in our own day, the Kantian philo-
sophy, the foundation-stone of which is taken from logic,
has excited a new interest in it ; which, in this respect,
at any rate, that is, as the means of the knowledge of
the nature of reason, it deserves.

Correct and accurate conclusions may be arrived at
if we carefully observe the relation of the spheres of
concepts, and only conclude that one sphere is contained
in a third sphere, when we have clearly seen that this
first sphere is contained in a second, which in its turn is
contained in the third. On the other hand, the art of
sophistry lies in casting only a superficial glance at the
relations of the spheres of the concepts, and then mani-
pulating these relations to suit our purposes, generally
in the following way : — When the sphere of an observed
concept lies partly within that of another concept, and
partly within a third altogether different sphere, we treat
it as if it lay entirely within the one or the other, as
may suit our purpose. For example, in speaking of
passion, we may subsume it under the concept of the
greatest force, the mightiest agency in the world, or
under the concept of the irrational, and this again under
the concept of impotency or weakness. We may then
repeat the process, and start anew with each concept to
which the argument leads us. A concept has almost
always several others, which partially come under it,
and each of these contains part of the sphere of the first,
but also includes in its own sphere something more,
which is not in the first. But we draw attention only
to that one of these latter concepts, under which we
wish to subsume the first, and let the others remain un-
observed, or keep them concealed. On the possession of
this skill depends the whole art of sophistry and all finer
fallacies; for logical fallacies such as mentions, velatus,
cornatus, &c, are clearly too clumsy for actual use. I
am not aware that hitherto any one has traced the
nature of all sophistry and persuasion back to this last

&4 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

possible ground of its existence, and referred it to the
peculiar character of concepts, i.e., to the procedure of
reason itself. Therefore, as my exposition has led me to
it, though it is very easily understood, I will illustrate it
in the following table by means of a schema. This table
is intended to show how the spheres of concepts overlap
each other at many points, and so leave room for a passage
from each concept to whichever one we please of several
other concepts. I hope, however, that no one will be led
by this table to attach more importance to this little
explanation, which I have merely given in passing, than
ought to belong to it, from the nature of the subject. I
have chosen as an illustration the concept of travelling.
Its sphere partially includes four others, to any of which
the sophist may pass at will ; these again partly include
other spheres, several of them two or more at once, and
through these the sophist takes whichever way he chooses,
always as if it were the only way, till at last he reaches,
in good or evil, whatever end he may have in view. In
passing from one sphere to another, it is only necessary
always to follow the direction from the centre (the given
chief concept) to the circumference, and never to reverse
this process. Such a piece of sophistry may be either
an unbroken speech, or it may assume the strict syl-
logistic form, according to what is the weak side of the
hearer. Most scientific arguments, and especially philo-
sophical demonstrations, are at bottom not much more
than this, for how else would it be possible, that so
much, in different ages, has not only been falsely appre-
hended (for error itself has a different source), but
demonstrated and proved, and has yet afterwards been
found to be fundamentally wrong, for example, the
Leibnitz - Wolflan Philosophy, Ptolemaic Astronomy,
Stahl's Chemistry, Newton's Theory of Colours, &c. &C.1

§ i o. Through all this, the question presses ever more
upon us, how certainty is to be attained, how judgments

1 Cf. Ch. 1 1 of Supplement.

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 65

are to he established, what constitutes rational knowledge,
{wissen), and science, which we rank with language and
deliberate action as the third great benefit conferred by
reason.

Eeason is feminine in nature ; it can only give after
it has received. Of itself it has nothing but the empty
forms of its operation. There is no absolutely pure
rational knowledge except the four principles to which
I have attributed metalogical truth; the principles of
identity, contradiction, excluded middle, and sufficient y
reason of knowledge. For even the rest of logic is not
absolutely pure rational knowledge. It presupposes the
relations and the combinations of the spheres of concepts.
'[But concepts in general only exist after experience of
j ideas of perception, and as their whole nature consists
in their relation to these, it is clear that they presuppose
them. No special content, however, is presupposed, but
merely the existence of a content generally, and so logic
as a whole may fairly pass for pure rational science.
In all other sciences reason has received its content from
ideas of perception; in mathematics from the relations
of space and time, presented in intuition or perception
prior to all experience ; in pure natural science, that is,
in what we know of the course of nature prior to any
experience, the content of the science proceeds from the
pure understanding, i.e., from the a priori knowledge of
the law of causality and its connection with those pure
intuitions or perceptions of space and time. In all other
sciences everything that is not derived from the sources
we have just referred to belongs to experience. Speak-
ing generally, to know rationally {wissen) means to have in
the power of the mind, and capable of being reproduced
at will, such judgments as have their sufficient ground of
knowledge in something outside themselves, i.e., are true.
Thus only abstract cognition is rational knowledge {wissen),
which is therefore the result of reason, so that we cannot
accurately say of the lower animals that they rationally

vol. l E

66 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

know (wissen) anything, although they have apprehension
of what is presented in perception, and memory of this,
and consequently imagination, which is further proved
by the circumstance that they dream. We attribute
consciousness to them, and therefore although the word
(bewusstsein) is derived from the verb to know rationally
(wissen), the conception of consciousness corresponds gene-
rally with that of idea of whatever kind it may be. Thus
we attribute life to plants, but not consciousness. Ra-
tional knowledge (wissen) is therefore abstract conscious-
ness, the permanent possession in concepts. of the reason,
of what has become known in another way.

§ II. In this regard the direct opposite of rational
knowledge is feeling, and therefore we must insert the
explanation of feeling here. The concept which the
word feeling denotes has merely a negative content,
which is this, that something which is present in con-
sciousness, is not a concept, is not abstract rational
knowledge. Except this, whatever it may be, it comes
under the concept of feeling. Thus the immeasurably
wide sphere of the concept of feeling includes the most
different kinds of objects, and no one can ever understand
how they come together until he has recognised that
they all agree in this negative respect, that they are not
abstract concepts. For the most diverse and even antago-
nistic elements lie quietly side by side in this concept;
for example, religious feeling, feeling of sensual pleasure,
moral feeling, bodily feeling, as touch, pain, sense of
colour, of sounds and their harmonies and discords,
feeling of hate, of disgust, of self-satisfaction, of honour,
of disgrace, of right, of wrong, sense of truth, aesthetic
feeling, feeling of power, weakness, health, friendship,
love, &c. &c. There is absolutely nothing in common
among them except the negative quality that they are
not abstract rational knowledga But this diversity
becomes more striking when the apprehension of space
relations presented a priori in perception, and also the

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 67

knowledge of the pure understanding is brought under
this concept, and when we say of all knowledge and all
truth, of which we are first conscious only intuitively,
and have not yet formulated in abstract concepts, we
feel it. I should like, for the sake of illustration, to
give some examples of this taken from recent books,
as they are striking proofs of my theory. I remember
reading in the introduction to a German translation of
Euclid, that we ought to make beginners in geometry
draw the figures before proceeding to demonstrate, for
in this way they would already feel geometrical
truth before the demonstration brought them complete
knowledge. In the same way Schleiermacher speaks in
his " Critique of Ethics " of logical and mathematical
feeling (p. 339), and also of the feeling of the sameness
or difference of two formulas (p. 342). Again Tenne-
mann in his " History of Philosophy " (vol. I., p. 361)
says, "One felt that the fallacies were not right, but
could not point out the mistakes." Now, so long as we
do not regard this concept "feeling " from the right point
of view, and do not recognise that one negative character-
istic which alone is essential to it, it must constantly
give occasion for misunderstanding and controversy, on
account of the excessive wideness of its sphere, and its
entirely negative and very limited content which is de-
termined in a purely one-sided manner. Since then we
have in German the nearly synonymous word empfindung
(sensation), it would be convenient to make use of it for
bodily feeling, as a sub-species. This concept "feeling,"
which is quite out of proportion to all others, doubtless
originated in the following manner. All concepts, and
concepts alone, are denoted by words ; they exist only
for the reason, and proceed from it. With concepts,
therefore, we are already at a one-sided point of view ;
but from such a point of view what is near appears
distinct and is set down as positive, what is farther off
becomes mixed up and is soon regarded as merely

68 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

negative. Thus each nation calls all others foreign : to
the Greek all others are barbarians ; to the Englishman
all that is not England or English is continent or con-
tinental ; to the believer all others are heretics, or
heathens ; to the noble all others are roturiers ; to the
student all others are Philistines, and so forth. Now,
reason itself, strange as it may seem, is guilty of the
same one-sidedness, indeed one might say of the same
crude ignorance arising from vanity, for it classes under
the one concept, "feeling? every modification of con-
sciousness which does not immediately belong to its own
mode of apprehension, that is to say, which is not an
abstract concept It has had to pay the penalty of this
hitherto in misunderstanding and confusion in its own
province, because its own procedure had not become
clear to it through thorough self-knowledge, for a special
faculty of feeling has been set up, and new theories of
it are constructed.

§ 1 2. Rational knowledge {wissen) is then all abstract
knowledge, — that is, the knowledge which is peculiar to
the reason as distinguished from the understanding. Its
contradictory opposite has just been explained to be the
concept " feeling." Now, as reason only reproduces, for
knowledge, what has been received in another way, it
does not actually extend our knowledge, but only gives it
another form. It enables us to know in the abstract
and generally, what first became known in sense-per-
ception, in the concrete. But this is much more important
than it appears at first sight when so expressed. For it
depends entirely upon the fact that knowledge has
become rational or abstract knowledge {wissen), that it
can be safely preserved, that it is communicable and
susceptible of certain and wide-reaching application to
practice. Knowledge in the form of sense-perception is
valid only of the particular case, extends only to what is
nearest, and ends with it, for sensibility and understand-
ing can only comprenend one object at a time. Every

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 69

enduring, arranged, and planned activity must therefore
proceed from principles, — that is, from abstract know-
ledge, and it must be conducted in accordance with
them. Thus, for example, the knowledge of the relation
of cause and effect arrived at by the understanding, is in
itself far completer, deeper and more exhaustive than
anything that can be thought about it in the abstract ;
the understanding alone knows in perception directly
and completely the nature of the effect of a lever, of a
pulley, or a cog-wheel, the stability of an arch, and so
forth. But on account of the peculiarity of the know-
ledge of perception just referred to, that it only extends
to what is immediately present, the mere understanding
can never enable us to construct machines and buildings.
Here reason must come in ; it must substitute abstract
concepts for ideas of perception, and take them as the
guide ofjaction ; and if they are right, the anticipated
result will happen. In the same way we have perfect
knowledge in pure perception of the nature and constitu-
tion of the parabola, hyperbola, and spiral ; but if we are
to make trustworthy application of this knowledge to the
real, it must first become abstract knowledge, and by this
it certainly loses its character of intuition or perception,
but on the other hand it gains the certainty and pre-
ciseness of abstract knowledge. The differential calculus
does not really extend our knowledge of the curve, it con-
tains nothing that was not already in the mere pure
perception of the curve ; but it alters the kind of know-
ledge, it changes the intuitive into an abstract knowledge,
which is so valuable for application. But here we must
refer to another peculiarity of our faculty of knowledge,
which could not be observed until the distinction between
the knowledge of the senses and understanding and
abstract knowledge had been made quite clear. It is
this, that relations of space cannot as such be directly
translated into abstract knowledge, but only temporal
quantities, — that is, numbers, are suitable for this.

to THE WORLD AS IDEA.

Numbers alone can be expressed in abstract concepts
which accurately correspond to them, not spacial quanti-
ties. The concept " thousand " is just as different from
the concept "ten," as both these temporal quantities are
in perception. We think of a thousand as a distinct
multiple of ten, into which we can resolve it at pleasure
for perception in time, — that is to say, we can count it.
But between the abstract concept of a mile and that of a
foot, apart from any concrete perception of either, and
without the help of number, there is no accurate dis-
tinction corresponding to the quantities themselves. In
both we only think of a spacial quantity in general, and if
they must be completely distinguished we are compelled
either to call in the assistance of intuition or perception
in space, which would be a departure from abstract
knowledge, or we must think the difference in number*.
If then we wish to have abstract knowledge of space-
relations we must first translate them into time-relations,
— that is, into numbers ; therefore only arithmetic, and
not geometry, is the universal science of quantity, and
geometry must be translated into arithmetic if it is to
be communicable, accurately precise and applicable in
practice. It is true that a space-relation as such may
also be thought in the abstract ; for example, " the
sine increases as the angle," but if the quantity of this
relation is to be given, it requires number for its expres-
sion. This necessity, that if we wish to have abstract
knowledge of space-relations (ie., rational knowledge,
not mere intuition or perception), space with its three
dimensions must be translated into time which has only
one dimension, this necessity it is, which makes mathe-
matics so difficult. This becomes very clear if we
compare the perception of curves with their analytical
calculation, or the table of logarithms of the trigono-
metrical functions with the perception of the changing
relations of the parts of a triangle, which are expressed by
them. What vast mazes of figures, what laborious calcu-

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 71

lations it would require to express in the abstract what
perception here apprehends at a glance completely and
with perfect accuracy, namely, how the co-sine diminishes
as the sine increases, how the co-sine of one angle is the
sine of another, the inverse relation of the increase and
decrease of the two angles, and so forth. How time, we
might say, must complain, that with its one dimension it
should be compelled to express the three dimensions of
space ! Yet this is necessary if we wish to possess, for
application, an expression, in abstract concepts, of space-
relations. They could not be translated directly into
abstract concepts, but only through the medium of the
pure temporal quantity, number, which alone is directly
related to abstract knowledge. Yet it is worthy of re-
mark, that as space adapts itself so well to perception,
and by means of its three dimensions, even its com-
plicated relations are easily apprehended, while it eludes
the grasp of abstract knowledge ; time, on the contrary,
passes easily into abstract knowledge, but gives very little
to perception. Our perceptions of numbers in their
proper element, mere time, without the help of space,
scarcely extends as far as ten, and beyond that we have
only abstract concepts of numbers, no knowledge of them
which can be presented in perception. On the other hand,
we connect with every numeral, and with all algebraical
symbols, accurately denned abstract concepts.

We may further remark here that some minds only
find full satisfaction in what is known through percep-
tion. What they seek is the reason and consequent of
being in space, sensuously expressed ; a demonstration
after the manner of Euclid, or an arithmetical solution of
spacial problems, does not please them. Other minds,
on the contrary, seek merely the abstract concepts which
are needful for applying and communicating knowledge.
They have patience and memory for abstract principles,
formulas, demonstrations in long trains of reasoning, and
calculations, in which the symbols represent the most

72 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

complicated abstractions. The latter seek preciseness,
the former sensible perception. The difference is charac-
teristic.

.The greatest value of rational or abstract knowledge is
that it can be communicated and permanently retained.
It is principally on this account that it is so inestimably
important for practice. Any one may have a direct
perceptive knowledge through the understanding alone,
of the causal connection, of the changes and motions of
natural bodies, and he may find entire satisfaction in
it; but he cannot communicate this knowledge to others
until it has been made permanent for thought in concepts.
Knowledge of the first kind is even sufficient for practice,
if a man puts his knowledge into practice himself, in an
action which can be accomplished while the perception is
still vivid ; but it is not sufficient if the help of others
is required, or even if the action is his own but must
be carried out at different times, and therefore requires
a pre-conceived plan. Thus, for, example, a practised
billiard-player may have a perfect knowledge of the laws
of the impact of elastic bodies upon each other, merely
in the understanding, merely for direct perception ; and
for him it is quite sufficient ; but on the other hand it
is only the man who has studied the science of me-
chanics, who has, properly speaking, a rational knowledge
of these laws, that is, a knowledge of them in the
abstract. Such knowledge of the understanding in per-
ception is sufficient even for the construction of machines,
when the inventor of the machine executes the work
himself; as we often see in the case of talented work-
men, who have no scientific knowledge. But whenever a
number of men, and their united action taking place at
different times, is required for the completion of a mechani-
cal work, of a machine, or a building, then he who conducts
it must have thought out the plan in the abstract, and
such co-operative activity is only possible through the
assistance of reasoa It is, however, remarkable that in

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 73

the first kind of activity, in which we have supposed
that one man alone, in an uninterrupted course of action,
accomplishes something, abstract knowledge, the appli-
cation of reason or reflection, may often be a hindrance
to him ; for example, in the case of billiard-playing, of
fighting, of tuning an instrument, or in the case of sing-
ing. Here perceptive knowledge must directly guide
action ; its passage through reflection makes it uncertain,
for it divides the attention and confuses the man. Thus
savages and untaught men, who are little accustomed
to think, perform certain physical exercises, fight with
beasts, shoot with bows and arrows and the like, with a
certainty and rapidity which the reflecting European
never attains to, just because his deliberation makes him
hesitate and delay. For he tries, for example, to hit the
right position or the right point of time, by finding out
the mean between two false extremes ; while the savage
hits it directly without thinking of the false courses open
to him. In the same way it is of no use to me to know
in the abstract the exact angle, in degrees and minutes,
at which I must apply a razor, if I do not know it in-
tuitively, that is, if I have not got it in my touch. The
knowledge of physiognomy also, is interfered with by the
application of reason. This knowledge must be gained
directly through the understanding. We say that the
expression, the meaning of the features, can only be
j%5T)fchat is, it cannot be put into abstract concepts.
Every man has his direct intuitive method of physiog-
nomy and pathognomy, yet one man understands more
clearly than another these signatura rerum. But an
abstract science of physiognomy to be taught and learned
is not possible ; for the distinctions of difference are here
so fine that concepts cannot reach them ; therefore ab-
stract knowledge is related to them as a mosaic is to a
painting by a Van der Werft or a Denner. In mosaics,
however fine they may be, the limits of the stones are
always there, and therefore no continuous passage from

74 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

one colour to another is possible, and this is also the
case with regard to concepts, with their rigidity and
sharp delineation ; however finely we may divide them
by exact definition, they are still incapable of reaching
the finer modifications of the perceptible, and this is just
what happens in the example we have taken, knowledge
of physiognomy.1

This quality of concepts by which they resemble the
stones of a mosaic, and on account of which perception
always remains their asymptote, is also the reason why
nothing good is produced in art by their means. If the
singer or the virtuoso attempts to guide his execution
by reflection he remains silent. And this is equally
true of the composer, the painter, and the poet The
concept always remains unfruitful in art; it can only
direct the technical part of it, its sphere is science. We
shall consider more fully in the third book, why all true
art proceeds from sensuous knowledge, never from the
concept Indeed, with regard to behaviour also, and
personal agreeableness in society, the concept has only a
negative value in restraining the grosser manifestations
of egotism and brutality ; so that a polished manner is
its commendable production. But all that is attractive,
gracious, charming in behaviour, all affectionateness and
friendliness, must not proceed from the concepts, for if it
does, " we feel intention, and are put out of tune." All
dissimulation is the work of reflection; but it cannot
be maintained constantly and without interruption : " nemo

1 I am therefore of opinion that arched brow ; but snch a brow often
a science of physiognomy cannot, occurs where there is no genius. A
with certainty, go further than to clever-looking person may the more
lay down a few quite general rules, certainly be judged to be so the
For example, the intellectual quali- uglier the face is ; and a stupid-
ties are to be read in the forehead looking person may the more cer-
and the eyes ; the moral qualities, tainly be judged to be stupid the
the expression of will, in the mouth more beautiful the face is ; for
and lower part of the face. The beauty, as the approximation to the
forehead and the eyes interpret each type of humanity, carries in and for
other ; either of them seen alone itself the expression of mental clear-
can only be half understood. Genius ness ; the opposite is the case with
is never without a high, broad, finely- ugliness, and so forth.

V

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 75

potest personam diu ferre fictum" says Seneca in his book
de dementia ; and so it is generally found out and loses
its effect. Keason is needed in the full stress of life,
where quick conclusions, bold action, rapid and sure
comprehension are required, but it may easily spoil all if
it gains the upper hand, and by perplexing hinders the
intuitive, direct discovery, and grasp of the right by
simple understanding, and thus induces irresolution.

Lastly, virtue and holiness do not proceed from
reflection, but from the inner depths of the will, and its
relation to knowledge. The exposition of this belongs to
another part of our work ; this, however, I may remark
here, that the dogmas relating to ethics may be the same
in the reason of whole nations, but the action of every
individual different; and the converse also holds good;
action, we say, is guided by feelings, — that is, simply not
by concepts, but as a matter of fact by the ethical
character. Dogmas occupy the idle reason; but action
in the end pursues its own course independently of
them, generally not according to abstract rules, but
according to unspoken maxims, the expression of which
is the whole man himself. Therefore, however different
the religious dogmas of nations may be, yet in the case
of all of them, a good action is accompanied by un-
speakable satisfaction, and a bad action by endless
remorse. No mockery can shake the former ; no priest's
absolution can deliver from the latter. Notwithstanding
this, we must allow, that for the pursuit of a virtuous
life, the application of reason is needful ; only it is not
its source, but has the subordinate function of preserving
resolutions which have been made, of providing maxims
to withstand the weakness of the moment, and give con-
sistency to action. It plays the same part ultimately
in art also, where it has just as little to do with the
essential matter, but assists in carrying it out, for genius
is not always at call, and yet the work must be com-
pleted in all its parts and rounded off to a whole.1
1 Cf. Ch. 7 of the Supplement

76 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

§ 13. All these discussions of the advantages and dis-
advantages of the application of reason are intended to
show, that although abstract rational knowledge is the
reflex of ideas of perception, and is founded on them, it
is by no means in such entire congruity with them that
it could everywhere take their place: indeed it never
corresponds to them quite accurately. And thus, as we
have seen, many human actions can only be performed
by the help of reason and deliberation, and yet there are
some which are better performed without its assistance.
This very incongruity of sensuous and abstract know-
ledge, on account of which the latter always merely
approximates to the former, as mosaic approximates to
painting, is the cause of a very remarkable phenomenon
which, like reason itself, is peculiar to human nature,
and of which the explanations that have ever anew been
attempted, are insufficient: I mean laughter. On account
of the source of this phenomenon, we cannot avoid giving
the explanation of it here, though it again interrupts the
course of our work to do so. The cause of laughter in |
every case is simply the sudden perception of the incon-
gruity between a concept and the real objects which
have been thought through it in some relation, and
laughter itself is just the expression of this incongruity.
It often occurs in this way : two or more real objects are
thought through one concept, and the identity of the con-
cept is transferred to the objects; it then becomes
strikingly apparent from the entire difference of the
objects in other respects, that the concept was only
applicable to them from a one-sided point of view. It
occurs just as often, however, that the incongruity between
a single real object and the concept under which, from
one point of view, it has rightly been subsumed, is
suddenly felt. Now the more correct the subsumption
of such objects under a concept may be from one point
of view, and the greater and more glaring their incon-
gruity with it, from another point of view, the greater is

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 77

the ludicrous effect which is produced by this con-
trast. All laughter then is occasioned by a paradox, and
therefore by unexpected subsumption, whether this is
expressed in words or in actions. This, briefly stated, is
the true explanation of the ludicrous.

I shall not pause here to relate anecdotes as examples
to illustrate my theory ; for it is so simple and compre-
hensible that it does not require them, and everything
ludicrous which the reader may remember is equally
valuable as a proof of it. But the theory is confirmed
and illustrated by distinguishing two species into which
the ludicrous is divided, and which result from the
theory. Either, we have previously known two or more
very different real objects, ideas of sense-perception, and
have intentionally identified them through the unity of a
concept which comprehends them both ; this species of
the ludicrous is called wit. Or, conversely, the concept
is first present in knowledge, and we pass from it to
reality, and to operation upon it, to action: objects
which in other respects are fundamentally different, but
which are all thought in that one concept, are now
regarded and treated in the same way, till, to the sur-
prise and astonishment of the person acting, the great
difference of their other aspects appears : this species of the
ludicrous is called folly. Therefore everything ludicrous
is either a flash of wit or a foolish action, according as
the procedure has been from the discrepancy of the
objects to the identity of the concept, or the converse ;
the former always intentional, the latter always unin-
tentional, and from without. To seem to reverse the
starting-point, and to conceal wit with the mask of folly,
is the art of the jester and the clown. Being quite aware
of the diversity of the objects, the jester unites them,
with secret wit, under one concept, and then starting
from this concept he receives from the subsequently
discovered diversity of the objects the surprise which
he himself prepared, It follows from this short but

78 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

sufficient theory 0f the ludicrous, that, if we set aside the
last case, that of the jester, wit must always show itself
in words, folly generally in actions, though also in words
when it only expresses an intention and does not actually
carry * out, or when „ ghoW8 ^ me ^ J

and opinions.

iWrafty is a form of folly. It arises in this way a
man lacks confidence in his own understanding, and
therefor* does not wish to trust to it, to recognis°e what
« right directly in the particular case. He, therefore,
puts it entirely under the control of the reason, and
seeks to be guided by reason in everything; that is to
ay, he tries always to proceed from general concepts,
rules, and maxims, and to confine himself strictly to
them m hie, in art, and even in moral conduct Hence
that clinging to the form, to the manner, to the ex-
pression and word which is characteristic of pedantry
and which with it takes the place of the real naturelf
he matter. The incongruity then between the concept
and reality soon shows itself here, and it becomes
evident that the former never condescends to the Tar-
icnlar case, and that with its generality and rigid
defimteness it can never accurately apply to the fine

of the '7 f ^fT 8nd ----ble'modification
of the actual. Therefore, the pedant, with his general
maxims, almost always misses the mark in life shows
Wei to be foolish, awkward, useless. In 'arl 2
whmh the concept is unfruitful, he produces lifeless, stiff

™L%mTnr- EV6n W"h r<*ard 'o ethic, the
purpose to act rightly or nobly cannot always be carried

ZL'V ^ ,with abstr^ maxima; for in many

cases the excessively nice distinctions in the nature of
the circumstances necessitate a choice of the right pro-
ceeding directly from the character; for the application
of mere abstract maxims sometimes gives false results,
because the maxims only half apply; and sometimes
cannot be carried out, because they are foreign to the

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 79

individual character of the actor, and this never allows
itself to be entirely discovered ; therefore, inconsistencies
arise. Since then Kant makes it a condition of the
moral worth of an action, that it shall proceed from pure
rational abstract maxims, without any inclination or
momentary emotion, we cannot entirely absolve him
from the reproach of encouraging moral pedantry.
This reproach is the significance of Schiller's epigram,
entitled " Scruples of Conscience." When we speak,
especially in connection with politics, of doctrinaires,
theorists, savants, and so forth, we mean pedants, that is,
persons who know the things well in the abstract, but not
in the concrete. Abstraction consists in thinking away
the less general predicates ; but it is precisely upon these
that so much depends in practice.

To complete our theory it remains for us to mention a
spurious kind of wit, the play upon words, the calembourg,
the pun, to which may be added the equivocation, the
double entendre, the chief use of which is the expression
of what is obscene. Just as the witticism brings two
very different real objects under one concept, the pun
brings two different concepts, by the assistance of
accident, under one word. The same contrast appears,
only familiar and more superficial, because it does not
spring from the nature of things, but merely from the
accident of nomenclature. In the case of the witticism
the identity is in the concept, the difference in the
reality, but in the case of the pun the difference is in
the concepts and the identity in the reality, for the
terminology is here the reality. It would only be a some-
what far-fetched comparison if we were to say that the
pun is related to the witticism as the parabola (sic) of
the upper inverted cone to that of the lower. The mis-
understanding of the word or the quid pro quo is the
unintentional pun, and is related to it exactly as folly is
to wit. Thus the deaf man often affords occasion for
laughter, just as much as the fool, and inferior writers

80 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

of comedy often use the former for the latter to raise a
laugh.

I have treated laughter here only from the psychical
side ; with regard to the physical side, I refer to what is
said on the subject in the " Parerga," vol. II. ch. vi., § 98.1

§ 14. By means of these various discussions it is
hoped that both the difference and the relation between
the process of knowledge that belongs to the reason,
rational knowledge, the concept on the one hand, and the
direct knowledge in purely sensuous, mathematical intui-
tion or perception, and apprehension by the understand-
ing on the other hand, has been clearly brought out.
This remarkable relation of our kinds of knowledge led
us almost inevitably to give, in passing, explanations of
feeling and of laughter, but from all this we now turn back
to the further consideration of science as the third great
benefit which reason confers on man, the other two beinsr
speech and deliberate action. The general discussion of
science which now devolves upon us, will be concerned
partly with its form, partly with the foundation of its
judgments, and lastly with its content.

We have seen that, with the exception of the basis of
pure logic, rational knowledge in general has not its
source in the reason itself; but having been otherwise
obtained as knowledge of perception, it is stored up in
the reason, for through reason it has entirely changed its
character, and has become abstract knowledge. All
rational knowledge, that is, knowledge that has been
raised to consciousness in the abstract, is related to
science strictly so called, as a fragment to the whole.
Every one has gained a rational knowledge of many
different things through experience, through considera-
tion of the individual objects presented to him, but only
he who sets himself the task of acquiring a complete
knowledge in the abstract of a particular class of objects,
strives after science. This class can only be marked off

1 Cf. Ch. 8 of Supplement

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 81

by means of a concept ; therefore, at the beginning of
every science there stands a concept, and by means of
it the class of objects concerning which this science
promises a complete knowledge in the abstract, is separ-
ated in thought from the whole world of things. For
example, the concept of space-relations, or of the action
of unorganised bodies upon each other, or of the nature
of plants, or of animals, or of the successive changes of
the surface of the globe, or of the changes of the human
race as a whole, or of the construction of a language,
and so forth. If science sought to obtain the know-
ledge of its object, by investigating each individual thing
that is thought through the concept, till by degrees
it had learned the whole, no human memory would be
equal to the task, and no certainty of completeness would
be obtainable. Therefore, it makes use of that property
of concept-spheres explained above, that they include
each other, and it concerns itself mainly with the wider
spheres which lie within the concept of its object in
general. When the relations of these spheres to each
other have been determined, all that is thought in them
is also generally determined, and can now be more and
more accurately determined by the separation of smaller
and smaller concept-spheres. In this way it is possible
for a science to comprehend its object completely. This
path which it follows to knowledge, the path from the
general to the particular, distinguishes it from ordinary
rational knowledge ; therefore, systematic form is an
essential and characteristic feature of science. The
combination of the most general concept- spheres of every
science, that is, the knowledge of its first principles, is
the indispensable condition of mastering it ; how far we
advance from these to the more special propositions is a
matter of choice, and does not increase the thoroughness
but only the extent of our knowledge of the science.
The number of the first principles to which all the rest
are subordinated, varies greatly in the different sciences,
vol 1. F

82 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

so that in some there is more subordination, in others
more co-ordination ; and in this respect, the former make
greater claims upon the judgment, the latter upon the
memory. It was known to the schoolmen,1 that, as the
syllogism requires two premises, no science can proceed
from a single first principle which cannot be the subject
of further deduction, but must have several, at least two.
The specially classifying sciences : Zoology, Botany, and
also Physics and Chemistry, inasmuch as they refer all
inorganic action to a few fundamental forces, have most
subordination ; history, on the other hand, has really none
at all ; for the general in it consists merely in the survey
of the principal periods, from which, however, the parti-
cular events cannot be deduced, and are only subordinated
to them according to time, but according to the concept
are co-ordinate with them. Therefore, history, strictly
speaking, is certainly rational knowledge, but is not
science. In mathematics, according to Euclid's treat-
ment, the axioms alone are indemonstrable first principles,
and all demonstrations are in gradation strictly subor-
dinated to them. But this method of treatment is not
essential to mathematics, and in fact each proposition
introduces quite a new space construction, which in itself
is independent of those which precede it, and indeed can
be completely comprehended from itself, quite independ-
ently of them, in the pure intuition or perception of
space, in which the most complicated construction is just
as directly evident as the axiom ; but of this more fully
hereafter. Meanwhile every mathematical proposition re-
mains always a universal truth, which is valid for innumer-
able particular cases ; and a graduated process from the
simple to the complicated propositions which are to be
deduced from them, is also essential to mathematics; there-
fore, in every respect mathematics is a science. The com-
pleteness of a science as such, that is, in respect of form,
consists in there being as much subordination and as little

1 Suarez, Disput. Metaphysics, disp. iii. sect. 3, tit. 3.

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 83

co-ordination of the principles as possible. Scientific
talent in general is, therefore, the faculty of subordinating
the concept-spheres according to their different determina-
tions, so that, as Plato repeatedly counsels, a science shall
not be constituted by a general concept and an indefinite
multiplicity immediately under it, but that knowledge
shall descend by degrees from the general to the par-
ticular, through intermediate concepts and divisions,
according to closer and closer definitions. In Kantian
language this is called satisfying equally the law of
homogeneity and that of specification. It arises from
this peculiar nature of scientific completeness, that the
aim of science is not greater certainty — for certainty
may be possessed in just as high a degree by the most
disconnected particular knowledge — but its aim is rather
the facilitating of rational knowledge by means of its
form, and the possibility of the completeness of rational
knowledge which this form affords. It is therefore a
very prevalent but perverted opinion that the scientific
character of knowledge consists in its greater certainty,
and just as false is the conclusion following from this,
that, strictly speaking, the only sciences are mathematics
and logic, because only in them, on account of their
purely a priori character, is there unassailable certainty
of knowledge. This advantage cannot be denied them,
but it gives them no special claim to be regarded as
sciences ; for the special characteristic of science does
not lie in certainty but in the systematic form of know-
ledge, based on the gradual descent from the general
to the particular. The process of knowledge from the
general to the particular, which is peculiar to the sciences,
involves the necessity that in the sciences much should
be established by deduction from preceding propositions,
that is to say, by demonstration ; and this has given rise
to the old mistake that only what has been demonstrated is
absolutely true, and that every truth requires a demons-
tration ; whereas, on the contrary, every demonstration

g4 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

requires an undemonstrated truth, which ultimately sup-
ports it, or it may be, its own demonstration. Therefore
a directly established truth is as much to be preferred to
a truth established by demonstration as water from the
spring is to water from the aqueduct. Egrception, partly
pure a priori, as it forms the basis of mathematics, partly
empirical a posterim, as it forms the basis of all the other
sciences, is the source of all truth and the foundation of
all science. (Logic alone is to be excepted, which is not
founded upon perception but yet upon direct knowledge
by the reason of its own laws.) Not the demonstrated
judgments nor their demonstrations, but judgments which
are created directly out of perception, and founded upon
it rather than on any demonstrations, are to science what
the sun is to the world ; for all light proceeds from them,
end lighted by their light the others give light also. To,
QstabUsh the truth of such primary judgments directly
from perception, to raise such strongholds of science from
the innumerable multitude of real objects, that is the
work of the faculty of judgment, which consists in the
power of rightly and accurately carrying over into abstract
consciousness what is known in perception, and judgment
is consequently the mediator between understanding and
reason. Only extraordinary and exceptional strength of
judgment in the individual can actually advance science ;
but every one who is possessed of a healthy reason is able
to deduce propositions from propositions, to demonstrate,
to draw conclusions. To lay down and make permanent
for reflection, in suitable concepts, what is known through
perception, so that, on the one hand, what is common to
many real objects is thought through one concept, and,
on the other hand, their points of difference are each
thought through one concept, so that the different shall
be known and thought as different in spite of a partial
agreement, and the identical shall be known and thought
as identical in spite of a partial difference, all in accord-
ance with the end and intention which in each case

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 85

is in view ; all this is done by the faculty of judgment.
Deficiency in judgment is silliness. The silly man fails
to grasp, now the partial or relative difference of con-
cepts which in one aspect are identical, now the identity
of concepts which are relatively or partially different. To
this explanation of the faculty of judgment, moreover,
Kant's division of it into reflecting and subsuming judg-
ment may be applied, according as it passes from the
perceived objects to the concepts, or from the latter to
the former ; in both cases always mediating between em-
pirical knowledge of the understanding and the reflective
knowledge of the reason. There can be no truth which
could be brought out by means of syllogisms alone ;
and the necessity of establishing truth by means of
syllogisms is merely relative, indeed subjective. Since all
demonstration is syllogistic, in the case of a new truth
we must first seek, not for a demonstration, but for direct
evidence, and only in the absence of such evidence is a
demonstration to be temporarily made use of. No science
is susceptible of demonstration throughout any more than
a building can stand in the air; all its demonstrations
must ultimately rest upon what is perceived, and conse-
quently cannot be demonstrated, for the whole world
of reflection rests upon and is rooted in the world of
perception. All primal, that is, original, evidence is a
perception, as the word itself indicates. Therefore it
is either empirical or founded upon the perception a
priori of the conditions of possible experience. In both
cases it affords only immanent, not transcendent know-
ledge. Every concept has its worth and its existence
only in its relation, sometimes very indirect, to an idea
of perception ; what is true of the concepts is also true
of the judgments constructed out of them, and of all
science. Therefore it must in some way be possible to
know directly without demonstrations or syllogisms every
truth that is arrived at through syllogisms and communi-
cated by demonstrations. This is most difficult in the

■ 7

v-

86 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

case of certain complicated mathematical propositions
at which we only arrive by chains of syllogisms; for
example, the calculation of the chords and tangents to
all arcs by deduction from the proposition of Pythagoras.
But even such a truth as this cannot essentially and
solely rest upon abstract principles, and the space-rela-
tions which lie at its foundation also must be capable of
being so presented a prion in pure intuition or perception
that the truth of their abstract expression is directly
established. But of mathematical demonstration we shall
speak more fully shortly.

It is true we often hear men speak in a lofty strain
of sciences which rest entirely upon correct conclusions
drawn from sure premises, and which are consequently
unassailable. But through pure logical reasoning, how-
ever true the premises may be, we shall never receive
more than an articulate expression and exposition of
what lies already complete in the premises ; thus we
shall only explicitly expound what was already implicitly
understood. The esteemed sciences referred to are,
however, specially the mathematical sciences, particularly
astronomy. But the certainty of astronomy arises from
the fact that it has for its basis the intuition or percep-
tion of space, which is given a priori, and is therefore
infallible. All space-relations, however, follow from
each other with a necessity (ground of being) which
affords a priori certainty, and they can therefore be
safely deduced from each other. To these mathematical
properties we have only to add one force of nature,
gravity, which acts precisely in relation to the masses
and the square of the distance ; and, lastly, the law of
inertia, which follows from the law of causality and is
therefore true a priori, and with it the empirical datum
of the motion impressed, once for all, upon each of these
masses. This is the whole material of astronomy, which
both by its simplicity and its certainty leads to definite
results, which are highly interesting on account of the

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 87

vastuess and importance of the objects. For example, if
I know the mass of a planet and the distance of its
satellite from it, I can tell with certainty the period of
the revolution of the latter according to Kepler's second
law. But the ground of this law is, that with this
distance only this velocity will both chain the satellite to
the planet and prevent it from falling into it Thus it is
only upon such a geometrical basis, that is, by means of
an intuition or perception a priori, and also under the
application of a law of nature, that much can be arrived
at by means of syllogisms, for here they are merely like
bridges from one sensuous apprehension to others ; but it
is not so with mere pure syllogistic reasoning in the
exclusively logical method. The source of the first
fundamental truths of astronomy is, however, properly
induction, that is, the comprehension of what is given
in many perceptions in one true and directly founded
judgment. From this, hypotheses are afterwards con-
structed, and their confirmation by experience, as induc-
tion approaching to completeness, affords the proof of the
first judgment. For example, the apparent motion of
the planets is known empirically; after many false
hypotheses with regard to the spacial connection of this
motion (planetary course) the right one was at last found,
then the laws which it obeyed (the laws of Kepler), and,
lastly, the cause of these laws (universal gravitation),
and the empirically known agreement of all observed
cases with the whole of the hypotheses, and with their
consequences, that is to say, induction, established them
with complete certainty. The invention of the hy-
potheses was the work of the judgment, which rightly
comprehended the given facts and expressed them
accordingly ; but induction, that is, a multitude of per-
ceptions, confirmed their truth. But their truth could
also be known directly, and by a single empirical percep-
tion, if we could pass freely through space and had
telescopic eyes. Therefore, here also syllogisms are not

88 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

the essential and only source of knowledge, but really
only a makeshift.

As a third example taken from a different sphere we
may mention that the so-called metaphysical truths, that
is, such truths as those to which Kant assigns the
position of the metaphysical first principles of natural
science, do not owe their evidence to demonstration.
What is a priori certain we know directly ; as the form
of all knowledge, it is known to us with the most complete
necessity. For example, that matter is permanent, that is,
can neither come into being nor pass away, we know directly
as negative truth ; for our pure intuition or perception of
space and time gives the possibility of motion ; in the
law of causality the understanding affords us the possi-
bility of change of form and quality, but we lack powers
of the imagination for conceiving the coming into being
or passing away of matter. Therefore that truth has at
all times been evident to all men everywhere, nor has
it ever been seriously doubted ; and this could not be the
case if it had no other ground of knowledge than the
abstruse and exceedingly subtle proof of Kant. But
besides this, I have found Kant's proof to be false (as is
explained in the Appendix), and have shown above that
the permanence of matter is to be deduced, not from
the share which time has in the possibility of experience,
but from the share which belongs to space. r£he true
foundation of all truths which in this sense are called
metaphysical, that is, abstract expressions of the neces-
sary and universal forms of knowledge, cannot itself lie
in abstract principles ; but only in the immediate con-
sciousness of the forms of the idea communicating itself
in apodictic assertions a priori, and fearing no refutation.
But if we yet desire to give a proof of them, it can only
. consist in showing that what is to be proved is contained
in some truth about which there is no doubt, either as a
part of it or as a presupposition. Thus, for example,
1 have shown that all empirical perception implies the

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 89

application of the law of causality, the knowledge of
which is hence a condition of all experience, and there-
fore cannot be first given and conditioned through ex-
perience as Hume thought. Demonstrations in general /\j
are not so much for those who wish to learn as for those
who wish to dispute. Such persons stubbornly deny
directly established insight ; now only the truth can be
consistent in all directions, and therefore we must show
such persons that they admit under one form and
indirectly, what they deny under another form and
directly; that is, the logically necessary connection
between what is denied and what is admitted.

It is also a consequence of the scientific form, the
subordination of everything particular under a general,
and so on always to what is more general, that the truth
of many propositions is only logically proved, — that is,
through their dependence upon other propositions, through
syllogisms, which at the same time appear as proofs.
But we must never forget that this whole form of science
is merely a means of rendering knowledge more easy, not
a means to greater certainty. It is easier to discover the
nature of an animal, by means of the species to which
it belongs, and so on through the genus, family, order,
and class, than to examine on every occasion the animal
presented to us : but the truth of all propositions arrived
at syllogistically is always conditioned by and ultimately
dependent upon some truth which rests not upon reason-
ing but upon perception. If this perception were always
as much within our reach as a deduction through syllo-
gisms, then it would be in every respect preferable. For
every deduction from concepts is exposed to great danger
of error, on account of the fact we have considered above,
that so many spheres lie partly within each other, and
that their content is often vague or uncertain. This is
illustrated by a multitude of demonstrations of false
doctrines and sophisms of every kind. Syllogisms are
indeed perfectly certain as regards form, but they are

9o THE WORLD AS IDEA.

very uncertain on account of their matter, the concepts.
For, on the one hand, the spheres of these are not
sufficiently sharply defined, and, on the other hand, they
intersect each other in so many ways that one sphere is
in part contained in many others, and we may pass at
will from it to one or another of these, and from this
sphere again to others, as we have already shown. Or,
in other words, the minor term and also the middle
can always be subordinated to different concepts, from
which we may choose at will the major and the middle,
and the nature of the conclusion depends on this choice.
Consequently immediate evidence is always much to be
preferred to reasoned truth, and the latter is only to be
accepted when the former is too remote, and not when
it is as near or indeed nearer than the latter. Accord-
ingly we saw above that, as a matter of fact, in the case
of logic, in which the immediate knowledge in each
individual case lies nearer to hand than deduced scientfic
knowledge, we always conduct our thought according to
our immediate knowledge of the laws of thought, and
leave logic unused.1

§ i 5. If now with our conviction that perception is the
primary source of all evidence, and that only direct or
indirect connection with it is absolute truth ; and further,
that the shortest way to this is always the surest, as
every interposition of concepts means exposure to many
deceptions ; if, I say, we now turn with this conviction
to mathematics, as it was established as a science by
Euclid, and has remained as a whole to our own day, we
cannot help regarding the method it adopts, as strange
and indeed perverted. We ask that eveiy logical proof
shall be traced back to an origin in perception ; but
mathematics, on the contrary, is at great pains deliberately
to throw away the evidence of perception which is
peculiar to it, and always at hand, that it may substitute
for it a logical demonstration. This must seem to us

1 Cf. Ch. 12 of Supplement.

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 91

like the action of a man who cuts off his legs in order to
go on crutches, or like that of the prince in the " Triumph
der Empfindsamkeit" who flees from the beautiful reality
of nature, to delight in a stage scene that imitates it. I
must here refer to what I have said in the sixth chap-
ter of the essay on the principle of sufficient reason, and
take for granted that it is fresh and present in the
memory of the reader ; so that I may link my observa-
tions on to it without explaining again the difference
between the mere ground of knowledge of a mathematical
truth, which can be given logically, and the ground of
being, which is the immediate connection of the parts of
space and time, known only in perception. It is only
insight into the ground of being that secures satisfaction
and thorough knowledge. The^mere ground of know-
ledge must always remain superficial ; it can afford us
indeed rational knowledge that a thing is as it is, but it
cannot tell why it is so. Euclid chose the latter way to
the obvious detriment of the science. For just at the
beginning, for example, when he ought to show once for
all how in a triangle the angles and sides reciprocally
determine each other, and stand to each other in
the relation of reason and consequent, in accordance
with the form which the principle of sufficient reason
has in pure space, and which there, as in every other
sphere, always affords the necessity that a thing is as it
is, because something quite different from it, is as it is ;
instead of in this way giving a thorough insight into the
nature of the triangle, he sets up certain disconnected
arbitrarily chosen propositions concerning the triangle,
and gives a logical ground of knowledge of them, through
a laborious logical demonstration, based upon the
principle of contradiction. Instead of an exhaustive
knowledge of these space-relations we therefore receive
merely certain results of them, imparted to us at
pleasure, and in fact we are very much in the position
of a man to whom the different effects of an ingenious

92 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

machine are shown, but from whom its inner connection
and construction are withheld. We are compelled by
the principle of contradiction to admit that what Euclid
demonstrates is true, but we do not comprehend why it
is so. We have therefore almost the same uncomfortable
feeling that we experience after a juggling trick, and, in
fact, most of Euclid's demonstrations are remarkably like
such feats. The truth almost always enters by the back
door, for it manifests itself per accidens through some
contingent circumstance. Often a reductio ad ahsurdum
shuts all the doors one after another, until only one is
left through which we are therefore compelled to enter.
Often, as in the proposition of Pythagoras, lines are
drawn, we don't know why, and it afterwards appears
that they were traps which close unexpectedly and take
prisoner the assent of the astonished learner, who must
now admit what remains wholly inconceivable in its inner
connection, so much so, that he may study the whole of
Euclid through and through without gaining a real insight
into the laws of space-relations, but instead of them he
only learns by heart certain results which follow from
them. This specially empirical and unscientific know-
ledge is like that of the doctor who knows both the
disease and the cure for it, but does not know the con-
/ nection between them. But all this is the necessary
consequence if we capriciously reject the special kind of
proof and evidence of one species of knowledge, and
forcibly introduce in its stead a kind which is quite
foreign to its nature. However, in other respects the
manner in which this has been accomplished by Euclid
deserves all the praise which has been bestowed on him
through so many centuries, and which has been carried
so far that his method of treating mathematics has been
set up as the pattern of all scientific exposition. Men
tried indeed to model all the sciences after it, but later
they gave up the attempt without quite knowing why.
Yet in our eyes this method of Euclid in mathematics

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 93

can appear only as a very brilliant piece of perversity.
But when a great error in life or in science has been
intentionally and methodically carried out with universal
applause, it is always possible to discover its source in
the philosophy which prevailed at the time. The Eleatics
first brought out the difference, and indeed often the
conflict, that exists between what is perceived, fawofievov,1
and what is thought, vovpevov, and used it in many ways
in their philosophical epigrams, and also in sophisms.
They were followed later by the Megarics, the Dialec-
ticians, the Sophists, the New- Academy, and the Sceptics ;
these drew attention to the illusion, that is to say, to the
deception of the senses, or rather of the understanding
which transforms the data of the senses into perception,
and which often causes us to see things to which the
reason unhesitatingly denies reality ; for example, a stick
broken in water, and such like. It came to be known
that sense-perception was not to be trusted uncondition-
ally, and it was therefore hastily concluded that only
rational, logical thought could establish truth ; although
Plato (in the Parmenides), the Megarics, Pyrrho, and
the New- Academy, showed by examples (in the manner
which was afterwards adopted by Sextus Empiricus) how
syllogisms and concepts were also sometimes misleading,
and indeed produced paralogisms and sophisms which
arise much more easily and are far harder to explain
than the illusion of sense-perception. However, this
rationalism, which arose in opposition to empiricism, kept
the upper hand, and Euclid constructed the science of
mathematics in accordance with it. He was compelled
by necessity to found the axioms upon evidence of per-
ception (<f)cuvofievov), but all the rest he based upon
reasoning (vov/nevov). His method reigned supreme
through all the succeeding centuries, and it could not
but do so as long as pure intuition or perception, a priori,

1 The reader must not think here terms, which is condemned in the
of Kant's misuse of these Greek Appendix.

94 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

was not distinguished from empirical perception. Certain
passages from the works of Proclus, the commentator of
Euclid, which Kepler translated into Latin in his book,
"De Harmonia Mundi," seem to show that he fully
recognised this distinction. But Proclus did not attach
enough importance to the matter ; he merely mentioned
it by the way, so that he remained unnoticed and accom-
plished nothing. Therefore, not till two thousand years
later will the doctrine of Kant, which is destined to make
such great changes in all the knowledge, thought, and
action of European nations, produce this change in
mathematics also. For it is only after we have learned
from this great man that the intuitions or perceptions of
space and time are quite different from empirical per-
ceptions, entirely independent of any impression of the
senses, conditioning it, not conditioned by it, i.e.t are a
priori, and therefore are not exposed to the illusions of
sense ; only after we have learned this, I say, can we
comprehend that Euclid's logical method of treating
mathematics is a useless precaution, a crutch for sound
legs, that it is like a wanderer who during the night
mistakes a bright, firm road for water, and carefully
avoiding it, toils over the broken ground beside it, con-
tent to keep from point to point along the edge of the
supposed water. Only now can we affirm with certainty
that what presents itself to us as necessary in the per-
ception of a figure, does not come from the figure on the
paper, which is perhaps very defectively drawn, nor from
the abstract concept under which we think it, but imme-
diately from the form of all knowledge of which we are
conscious a priori. This is always the principle of
sufficient reason ; here as the form of perception, ie.,
space, it is the principle of the ground of being, the
evidence and validity of which is, however, just as great
and as immediate as that of the principle of the ground
of knowing, i.e., logical certainty. Thus we need not and
ought not to leave the peculiar province of mathematics

THE WORLD AS IDEA.

95

in order to put our trust only in logical proof, and seek
to authenticate mathematics in a sphere which is quite
foreign to it, that of concepts. If we confine ourselves to
the ground peculiar to mathematics, we gain the great
advantage that in it the rational knowledge that something
is, is one with the knowledge why it is so, whereas the
method of Euclid entirely separates these two, and lets
us know only the first, not the second. Aristotle says
admirably in the Analyt., post. i. 27 : " A/cpifiearepa 8
ein<TTr)fi7] €TTiaTrifn)<; kcli irpoTepa, r)T6 tov otl /cai tov
Slotl r] avrrj, aWa firj %o)pt? tov otl, T779 tov Slotl"
(Subtilior autem et praestantior ea est scientia, qua QUOD
aliquid sit, et CUR sit una simulque intelligimus non
separatim QUOD, et cur sit). In physics we are only
satisfied when the knowledge that a thing is as it is
is combined with the knowledge why it is so. To
know that the mercury in the Torricellian tube stands
thirty inches high is not really rational knowledge if
we do not know that it is sustained at this height by the
counterbalancing weight of the atmosphere. Shall we
then be satisfied in mathematics with the qualitas occulta
of the circle that the segments of any two intersecting
chords always contain equal rectangles? That it is so
Euclid certainly demonstrates in the 35 th Prop, of the
Third Book ; why it is so remains doubtful. In the same
way the proposition of Pythagoras teaches us a qualitas
occulta of the right-angled triangle ; the stilted and indeed
fallacious demonstration of Euclid forsakes us at the why,
and a simple figure, which we already know, and which
is present to us, gives at a glance far more insight into
the matter, and firm inner conviction of that necessity, and
of the dependence of that quality upon the right angle : —

96 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

In the case of unequal catheti also, and indeed generally
in the case of every possible geometrical truth, it is quite
possible to obtain such a conviction based on perception,
because these truths were always discovered by such an
empirically known necessity, and their demonstration was
only thought out afterwards in addition. Thus we only
require an analysis of the process of thought in the first
discovery of a geometrical truth in order to know its
necessity empirically. It is the analytical method in
general that I wish for the exposition of mathematics,
instead of the synthetical method which Euclid made
use of. Yet this would have very great, though not
insuperable, difficulties in the case of complicated mathe-
matical truths. Here and there in Germany men are
beginning to alter the exposition of mathematics, and to
proceed more in this analytical way. The greatest effort
in this direction has been made by Herr Kosack, teacher
of mathematics and physics in the Gymnasium at Nord-
hausen, who added a thorough attempt to teach geometry
according to my principles to the programme of the school
examination on the 6th of April 1852.

In order to improve the method of mathematics, it is
especially necessary to overcome the prejudice that
demonstrated truth has any superiority over what is
known through perception, or that logical truth founded
upon the principle of contradiction has any superiority
over metaphysical truth, which is immediately evident, and
to which belongs the pure intuition or perception of space,

.That which is most certain, and yet always inexplicable,
is what is involved in the principle of sufficient reason,
for this principle, in its different aspects, expresses the
universal form of all our ideas and knowledge. All
explanation consists of reduction to it, exemplification in
the particular case of the connection of ideas expressed
generally through it. It is thus the principle of all
explanation, and therefore it is neither susceptible of an
explanation itself, nor does it stand in need of it; for

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 97

every explanation presupposes it, and only obtains mean-
ing through it. Now, none of its forms are superior to
the rest ; "ltfTs equally certain and incapable of demon-
stration as the principle of the ground of being, or of
change, or of action, or of knowing. The relation of reason
and consequent is a necessity in all its forms, and indeed
it is, in general, the source of the concept of necessity,
for necessity has no other meaning. If the reason is given
there is no other necessity than that of the consequent,
and there is no reason that does not involve the necessity
of the consequent. Just as surely then as the conse-
quent expressed in the conclusion follows from the
ground of knowledge given in the premises, does the
ground of being in space determine its consequent in
space: if I know through perception the relation of
these two, this certainty is just as great as any logical
certainty. But every geometrical proposition is just as
good an expression of such a relation as one of the
twelve axioms ; it is a metaphysical truth, and as such,
just as certain as the principle of contradiction itself,
which is a metalogical truth, and the common founda-
tion of all logical demonstration. Whoever denies the
necessity, exhibited for intuition or perception, of the
space-relations expressed in any proposition, may just as
well deny the axioms, or that the conclusion follows from
the premises, or, indeed, he may as well deny the
principle of contradiction itself, for all these relations
I are equally undemonstrable, immediately evident and
I known a priori. For any one to wish to derive the
necessity of space-relations, known in intuition or per-
ception, from the principle of contradiction by means of
a logical demonstration is just the same as for the feudal
superior of an estate to wish to hold it as the vassal of
another. Yet this is what Euclid has done. His
axioms only, he is compelled to leave resting upon
immediate evidence ; all the geometrical truths which
follow are demonstrated logically, that is to say, from

VOL. I. G

98 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

the agreement of the assumptions made in the pro-
position with the axioms which are presupposed, or with
some earlier proposition; or from the contradiction between
the opposite of the proposition and the assumptions made
in it, or the axioms, or earlier propositions, or even itself!
But the axioms themselves have no more immediate
evidence than any other geometrical problem, but only
more simplicity on account of their smaller content.

When a criminal is examined, a proccs-verlal is made
of his statement in order that we may judge of its truth
from its consistency. But this is only a makeshift, and
we are not satisfied with it if it is possible to investigate
the truth of each of his answers for itself; especially
as he might lie consistently from the beginning. But
Euclid investigated space according to this first method.
He set about it, indeed, under the correct assumption
that nature must everywhere be consistent, and that
therefore it must also be so in space, its fundamental
form. Since then the parts of space stand to each other
in a relation of reason and consequent, no single property
of space can be different from what it is without being
in contradiction with all the others. But this is a very
troublesome, unsatisfactory, and roundabout way to
follow. It prefers indirect knowledge to direct, which is
just as certain, and it separates the knowledge that a
thing is from the knowledge why it is, to the great dis-
advantage of the science ; and lastly, it entirely withholds
from the beginner insight into the laws of space, and
indeed renders him unaccustomed to the special investi-
gation of the ground and inner connection of things,
inclining him to be satisfied with a mere historical
knowledge that a thing is as it is. The exercise of
acuteness which this method is unceasingly extolled as
affording consists merely in this, that the pupil practises
drawing conclusions, t.e., he practises applying the prin-
ciple of contradiction, but specially he exerts his memory
to retain all those data whose agreement is to be tested.

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 99

Moreover, it is worth noticing that this method of
proof was applied only to geometry and not to arithmetic.
In arithmetic the truth is really allowed to come home
to ns through perception alone, which in it consists
simply in counting. As the perception of numbers is
in time alone, and therefore cannot be represented by a
sensuous schema like the geometrical figure, the suspicion
that perception is merely empirical, and possibly illusive,
disappeared in arithmetic, and the introduction of the
logical method of proof into geometry was entirely due
to this suspicion. As time has only one dimension,
counting is the only arithmetical operation, to which all
others may be reduced ; and yet counting is just intui-
tion or perception a priori, to which there is no hesitation
in appealing here, and through which alone everything else,
every sum and every equation, is ultimately proved. We
prove, for example, not that l7+9^8"2— 42 ; but we refer to
the pure perception in time, counting thus makes each
individual problem an axiom. Instead of the demonstra-
tions that fill geometry, the whole content of arithmetic
and algebra is thus simply a method of abbreviating
counting. We mentioned above that our immediate
perception of numbers in time extends only to about
ten. Beyond this an abstract concept of the numbers,
fixed by a word, must take the place of the perception ;
which does not therefore actually occur any longer, but
is only indicated in a thoroughly definite manner. Yet
even so, by the important assistance of the system of
figures which enables us to represent all larger numbers
by the same small ones, intuitive or perceptive evidence
of every sum is made possible, even where we make
such use of abstraction that not only the numbers, but
indefinite quantities and whole operations are thought
only in the abstract and indicated as so thought, as ^/r5
so that we do not perform them, but merely symbolise
them.

We might establish truth in geometry also, through

joo THE WORLD AS IDEA.

pure a priori perception, with the same right and
certainty as in arithmetic. It is in fact always this
necessity, known through perception in accordance with
the principle of sufficient reason of being, which gives to
geometry its principal evidence, and upon which in the
consciousness of every one, the certainty of its propositions
rests. The stilted logical demonstration is always foreign
to the matter, and is generally soon forgotten, without
weakening our conviction. It might indeed be dispensed
with altogether without diminishing the evidence of
geometry, for this is always quite independent of such
demonstration, which never proves anything we are not
convinced of already, through another kind of knowledge.
So far then it is like a cowardly soldier, who adds a
wound to an enemy slain by another, and then boasts
that he slew him himself.1

After all this we hope there will be no doubt that
the evidence of mathematics, which has become the
pattern and symbol of all evidence, rests essentially not
upon demonstration, but upon immediate perception,
which is thus here, as everywhere else, the ultimate
ground and source of truth. Yet the perception which
lies at the basis of mathematics has a great advantage
over all other perception, and therefore over empirical
perception. It is a priori, and therefore independent of
experience, which is always given only in successive
parts ; therefore everything is equally near to it, and we
can start either from the reason or from the consequent,
as we please. Now this makes it absolutely reliable,

1 Spinoza, who always boasts that self {substantia causa sui, (fee.), and

he proceeds more geometrico, has in the demonstrations he allows

actually done so more than he him- himself all the freedom of choice for

self was aware. For what he knew which the nature of the wide con-

with certainty and decision from the cept-spheres afford such convenient

* • * fx rill. _ 1. L!n H/v<i^i*ma !■

Willi ueru.uiii.^ mm uamuunuui ««*> *~r» ~, TrnT v

immediate, perceptive apprehension opportunity. That his doctrine »
of the nature of the world, he seeks true and excellent is therefore in
to demonstrate logically without
reference to this knowledge. He
only arrives at the intended and pre-
determined result by starting from
arbitrary concepts framed by him-

of the nature ot the world, ne seeKs irue »uu caubucuv .* «~w~ —

to demonstrate logically without his case, as in that of geometry,

reference to this knowledge. He quite independent of the demonstra-

only arrives at the intended and pre- tions of it. Cf. ch. 1 3 of supplemen-

determined result by starting from tary volume.

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 101

for in it the consequent is known from the reason,
and this is the only kind of knowledge that has
necessity; for example, the equality of the sides is
known as established by the equality of the angles. All
empirical perception, on the other hand, and the greater
part of experience, proceeds conversely from the conse-
quent to the reason, and this kind of knowledge is not
infallible, for necessity only attaches to the consequent
on account of the reason being given, and no necessity
attaches to the knowledge of the reason from the conse-
quent, for the same consequent may follow from different
reasons. The latter kind of knowledge is simply induc-
tion, i.e.y from many consequents which point to one
reason, the reason is accepted as certain; but as the
cases can never be all before us, the truth here is not
unconditionally certain. But all knowledge through
sense-perception, and the great bulk of experience, has
only this kind of truth. The affection of one of the
senses induces the understanding to infer a cause of the
effect, but, as a conclusion from the consequent to the
reason is never certain, illusion, which is deception of
the senses, is possible, and indeed often occurs, as was
pointed out above. Only when several of the senses, or
it may be all the five, receive impressions which point to
the same cause, the possibility of illusion is reduced to a
minimum ; but yet it still exists, for there are cases, for
example, the case of counterfeit money, in which all the
senses are deceived. All empirical knowledge, and con-
sequently the whole of natural science, is in the same
position, except only the pure, or as Kant calls it, meta-
physical part of it. Here also the causes are known
from the effects, consequently all natural philosophy
rests upon hypotheses, which are often false, and must
then gradually give place to more correct ones. Only
in the case of purposely arranged experiments, knowledge
proceeds from the cause to the effect, that is, it follows
the method that affords certainty ; but these experiments

102 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

themselves are undertake n in consequence of hypotheses.
Therefore, no branch of natural science, such as physics,
or astronomy, or physiology could be discovered all at
once, as was the case with mathematics and logic, but
required and requires the collected and compared ex-
periences of many centuries. In the first place, repeated
confirmation in experience brings the induction, upon
which the hypothesis rests, so near completeness that in
practice it takes the place of certainty, and is regarded
as diminishing the value of the hypothesis, its source,
just as little as the incommensurability of straight and
curved lines diminishes the value of the application of
geometry, or that perfect exactness of the logarithm,
which is not attainable, diminishes the value of arith-
metic. For as the logarithm, or the squaring of the
circle, approaches infinitely near to correctness through
infinite fractions, so, through manifold experience, the
induction, i.e., the knowledge of the cause from the
effects, approaches, not infinitely indeed, but yet so near
mathematical evidence, i.e., knowledge of the effects from
the cause, that the possibility of mistake is small enough
to be neglected, but yet the possibility exists ; for ex-
ample, a conclusion from an indefinite number of cases
to all cases, i.e., to the unknown ground on which all
depend, is an induction. What conclusion of this kind
seems more certain than that all men have the heart on
the left side ? Yet there are extremely rare and quite
isolated exceptions of men who have the heart upon the
right side. Sense-perception and empirical science have,
therefore, the same kind of evidence. The advantage
which mathematics, pure natural science, and logic have
over them, as a priori knowledge, rests merely upon this,
that the formal element in knowledge upon which all
that is a priori is based, is given as a whole and at once,
and therefore in it we can always proceed from the cause
to the effect, while in the former kind of knowledge we
are generally obliged to proceed from the effect to the

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 103

cause. In other respects, the law of causality, or the
principle of sufficient reason of change, which guides
empirical knowledge, is in itself just as certain as the
other forms of the principle of sufficient reason which
are followed by the a priori sciences referred to above.
Logical demonstrations from concepts or syllogisms have
the advantage of proceeding from the reason to the con-
sequent, just as much as knowledge through perception a
priori, and therefore in themselves, i.e., according to their
form, they are infallible. This has greatly assisted to
bring demonstration in general into such esteem. But
this infallibility is merely relative; the demonstration
merely subsumes under the first principles of the science,
and it is these which contain the whole material truth of
science, and they must not themselves be demonstrated,
but must be founded on perception. In the few a priori
sciences we have named above, this perception is pure,
but everywhere else it is empirical, and is only raised
to universality through induction. If, then, in the em-
pirical sciences also, the particular is proved from the
general, yet the general, on the other hand, has received
its truth from the particular ; it is only a store of collected
material, not a self-constituted foundation.

So much for the foundation of truth. Of the source
and possibility of error many explanations have been
tried since Plato's metaphorical solution of the dove-cot
where the wrong pigeons are caught, &c. (Thesetetus, p.
167, et seq.) Kant's vague, indefinite explanation of the
source of error by means of the diagram of diagonal
motion, will be found in the " Critique of Pure Beason,"
p. 294 of the first edition, and p. 350 of the fifth. As
truth is the relation of a judgment to its ground of know-
ledge, it is always a problem how the person judging can
believe that he has such a ground of knowledge and yet
not have it ; that is to say, how error, the deception of
reason, is possible. I find this possibility quite analogous
to that of illusion, or the deception of the understanding,

io4 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

which has been explained above. My opinion is (and
this is what gives this explanation its proper place here)
that every error is an inference from the consequent to tJu
reason, which indeed is valid when we know that the
consequent lias that reason and can have no other ; but
otherwise is not valid. The person who falls into error,
either attributes to a consequent a reason which it can-
not have, in which case he shows actual deficiency of
understanding, i.e., deficiency in the capacity for imme-
diate knowledge of the connection between the cause and
the effect, or, as more frequently happens, he attributes
to the effect a cause which is possible, but he adds to the
major proposition of the syllogism, in which he infers
the cause from the effect, that this effect always results
only from this cause. Now he could only be assured
of this by a complete induction, which, however, he
assumes without having made it. This ' always ' is there-
fore too wide a concept, and instead of it he ought to
have used 'sometimes' or 'generally.' The conclusion
would then be problematical, and therefore not erroneous.
That the man who errs should proceed in this way is
due either to haste, or to insufficient knowledge of what
is possible, on account of which he does not know the
necessity of the induction that ought to be made. Error
then is quite analogous to illusion. Both are inferences
from the effect to the cause ; the illusion brought about
always in accordance with the law of causality, and by
the understanding alone, thus directly, in perception
itself ; the error in accordance with all the forms of the
principle of sufficient reason, and by the reason, thus in
thought itself; yet most commonly in accordance with
the law of causality, as will appear from the three
following examples, which may be taken as types or
representatives of the three kinds of error, (i.) The
illusion of the senses (deception of the understanding)
induces error (deception of the reason) ; for example, if
one mistakes a painting for an alto-relief, and actually

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 105

takes it for such; the error results from a conclusion
from the following major premise : " If dark grey passes
regularly through all shades to white ; the cause is always
the light, which strikes differently upon projections and
depressions, ergo — ." (2.) " If there is no money in my
safe, the cause is always that my servant has got a key
for it : ergo — ." (3.) "If a ray of sunlight, broken
through a prism, i.e., bent up or down, appears as a
coloured band instead of round and white as before, the
cause must always be that light consists of homogeneous
rays, differently coloured and refrangible to different
degrees, which, when forced asunder on account of the
difference of their refrangibility, give an elongated and
variously -coloured spectrum : ergo — bibamus ! " — It must
be possible to trace every error to such a conclusion,
drawn from a major premise which is often only falsely
generalised, hypothetical, and founded on the assumption
that some particular cause is that of a certain effect.
Only certain mistakes in counting are to be excepted,
and they are not really errors, but merely mistakes.
The operation prescribed by the concepts of the numbers
has not been carried out in pure intuition or perception,
in counting, but some other operation instead of it.

As regards the content of the sciences generally, it is,
in fact, always the relation of the phenomena of the
world to each other, according to the principle of sufficient
reason, under the guidance of the why, which has validity
and meaning only through this principle. Explanation is
the establishment of this relation. Therefore explanation
can never go further than to show two ideas standing to
each other in the relation peculiar to that form of the
principle of sufficient reason which reigns in the class to
which they belong. If this is done we cannot further be
asked the question, why: for the relation proved is that
one which absolutely cannot be imagined as other than it
is, i.e., it is the form of all knowledge. Therefore we do
not ask why 2 + 2 — 4 ; or why the equality of the

106 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

angles of a triangle determines the equality of the sides ;
or why its effect follows any given cause ; or why the
truth of the conclusion is evident from the truth of the
premises. Every explanation which does not ultimately
lead to a relation of which no "why" can further be
demanded, stops at an accepted qualitas occulta; but this
is the character of every original force of nature. Every
explanation in natural science must ultimately end with
such a qualitas occulta, and thus with complete obscurity.
It must leave the inner nature of a stone just as much
unexplained as that of a human being; it can give as
little account of the weight, the cohesion, the chemical
qualities, &c, of the former, as of the knowing and acting
of the latter. Thus, for example, weight is a qualitas
occulta, for it can be thought away, and does not proceed
as a necessity from the form of knowledge ; which, on the
contrary, is not the case with the law of inertia, for it
follows from the law of causality, and is therefore
sufficiently explained if it is referred to that law. .There
are two things which are altogether inexplicable, — that
is to say, do not ultimately lead to the relation which the
principle of sufficient reason expresses. These are, first,
the principle of sufficient reason itself in all its four
forms, because it is the principle of all explanation, which
has meaning only in relation to it; secondly, that to
which this principle does not extend, but which is the
original source of all phenomena ; the thing-in-itself, the
knowledge of which is not subject to the principle of
sufficient reason. We must be content for the present
not to understand this thing-in-itself, for it can only be
made intelligible by means of the following book, in
which we shall resume this consideration of the possible
achievements of the sciences. But at the point at which
natural science, and indeed every science, leaves things,
because not only its explanation of them, but even the
principle of this explanation, the principle of sufficient
reason, does not extend beyond this point ; there philoso-

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 107

phy takes them up and treats them after its own method,
which is quite distinct from the method of science. In
my essay on the principle of sufficient reason, § 51,1
have shown how in the different sciences the chief guiding
clue is one or other form of that principle ; and, in fact,
perhaps the most appropriate classification of the sciences
might he hased upon this circumstance. Every explana-
tion arrived at by the help of this clue is, as we have

/^.said, merely relative; it explains things in relation to
each other, but something which indeed is presupposed is
always left unexplained. In mathematics, for example,
this is space and time; in mechanics, physics, and
chemistry it is matter, qualities, original forces and laws
of nature ; in botany and zoology it is the difference of
species, and life itself; in history it is the human race
with all its properties of thought and will : in all it is
that form of the principle of sufficient reason which is
respectively applicable. It is peculiar to philosophy that
it presupposes nothing as known, but treats everything as
equally external and a problem ; not merely the relations
of phenomena, but also the phenomena themselves, and
even the principle of sufficient reason to which the other
sciences are content to refer everything. In philosophy
nothing would be gained by such a reference, as one
member of the series is just as external to it as another;
and, moreover, that kind of connection is just as much a
problem for philosophy as what is joined together by it,
and the latter again is just as much a problem after its
combination has been explained as before it. For, as we

, /have said, just what the sciences presuppose and lay down
' as the basis and the limits of their explanation, is pre-
cisely and peculiarly the problem of philosophy, which
may therefore be said to begin where science ends. It
cannot be founded upon demonstrations, for they lead
from known principles to unknown, but everything is
equally unknown and external to philosophy. There can
be no principle in consequence of which the world with

io8 THE WORLD AS IDEA

all its phenomena first came into existence, and there-
fore it is not possible to construct, as Spinoza wished,
a philosophy which demonstrates ex fir mis principiis.
Philosophy is the most general rational knowledge, the
first principles of which cannot therefore be derived from
another principle still more general. The principle of con-
tradiction establishes merely the agreement of concepts,
but does not itself produce concepts. The principle of
sufficient reason explains the connections of phenomena,
but not the phenomena themselves ; therefore philosophy
cannot proceed upon these principles to seek a causa
cjjiciens or a causa finalis of the whole world. My philo-
sophy, at least, does not by any means seek to know
whence or where/ore the world exists, but merely what the
world is. But the why is here subordinated to the
what, for it already belongs to the world, as it arises and
has meaning and validity only through the form of its
phenomena, the principle of sufficient reason. We might
indeed say that every one knows what the world is with-
out help, for he is himself that subject of knowledge of
£ which the world is the idea; and so far this would be

true. But that knowledge is empirical, is in the con-
crete ; the task of philosophy is to reproduce this in
the abstract to raise to permanent rational knowledge
the successive changing perceptions, and in general, all
that is contained under the wide concept of feeling and
merely negatively defined as not abstract, distinct, rational
\ knowledge. It must therefore consist of a statement in
^ the abstract, of the nature of the whole world, of the
whole, and of all the parts. In order then that it may
not lose itself in the endless multitude of particular judg-
ments, it must make use of abstraction and think every-
thing individual in the universal, and its differences also
in the universal. It must therefore partly separate and
partly unite, in order to present to rational knowledge
the whole manifold of the world generally, according to
its nature, comprehended in a few abstract concepts.

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 109

Through these concepts, in which it fixes the nature of
the world, the whole individual must be known as well
as the universal, the knowledge of both therefore must
be bound together to the minutest point. Therefore the
capacity for philosophy consists just in that in which
Plato placed it, the knowledge of the one in the many,
and the many in the one. Philosophy will therefore be
a sum-total of general judgments, whose ground of know-
ledge is immediately the world itself in its entirety, with-
out°excepting anything; thus all that is to be found in
human consciousness ; it will be a complete recapitulation,
as it were, a reflection, of the world in abstract concepts,
which is only possible by the union of the essentially
identical in one concept and the relegation of the different
to another. This task was already prescribed to philosophy
by Bacon of Verulam when he said : ea demum vera est
philosophia, quae mundi ipsius wees fidelissime reddit, et
veluti dictante mundo conscripta est, et nihil aliud est,
quam ejusdem simulacrum et reflectio, neque addit quid-
quam de proprio, sed tantum Herat et resonat (Be Augm.
Scient., L. 2, c. 13). But we take this in a wider sense
than Bacon could then conceive.

The agreement which all the sides and parts of the

world have with each other, just because they belong to

a whole, must also be found in this abstract copy of it

Therefore the judgments in this sum-total could to a

certain extent be deduced from each other, and indeed

always reciprocally so deduced. Yet to make the first

judgment possible, they must all be present, and thus

implied as prior to it in the knowledge of the world in

the concrete, especially as all direct proof is more certain

than indirect proof ; their harmony with each other by

virtue of which they come together into the unity of one

thought, and which arises from the harmony and unity of

the world of perception itself, which is their common

ground of knowledge, is not therefore to be made use

of to establish them, as that which is prior to them,

"o THE WORLD AS IDEA.

but is only added as a confirmation of their truth.
This problem itself can only become quite clear in being
solved.1

§ 1 6. After this full consideration of reason as a special
faculty of knowledge belonging to man alone, and the
results and phenomena peculiar to human nature brought
about by it, it still remains for me to speak of reason, so
far as it is the guide of human action, and in this respect
may be called practical But what there is to say upon
this point has found its place elsewhere in the appendix
to this work, where I controvert the existence of the so-
called practical reason of Kant, which he (certainly very
conveniently) explained as the immediate source of virtue,
and as the seat of an absolute (i.e., fallen from heaven)
imperative. The detailed and thorough refutation of this
Kantian principle of morality I have given later in the
" Fundamental Problems of Ethics." There remains,
therefore, but little for me to say here about the actual
influence of reason, in the true sense of the word, upon
action. At the commencement of our treatment of
reason we remarked, in general terms, how much the
action and behaviour of men differs from that of brutes,
and that this difference is to be regarded as entirely due
to the presence of abstract concepts in consciousness.
The influence of these upon our whole existence is so
penetrating and significant that, on account of them, we
are related to the lower animals very much as those
animals that see are related to those that have no eyes
(certain larvae, worms, and zoophytes). Animals with-
out eyes know only by touch what is immediately present
to them in space, what comes into contact with them ;
those which see, on the contrary, know a wide circle of
near and distant objects. In the same way the absence
of reason confines the lower animals to the ideas of per-
ception, i.e., the real objects which are immediately pre-
sent to them in time ; we, on the contrary, on account

1 Ct Ch. 17 of Supplement

THE WORLD AS IDEA. ill

of knowledge in the abstract, comprehend not only the
narrow actual present, but also the whole past and
future, and the wide sphere of the possible ; we view
life freely on all its sides, and go far beyond the
present and the actual. Thus what the eye is in space
and for sensuous knowledge, reason is, to a certain
extent, in time and for inner knowledge. But as the
visibility of objects has its worth and meaning only in
the fact that it informs us of their tangibility, so the
whole. worth of abstract knowledge always consists in its
relation to what is perceived. Therefore men naturally
attach far more worth to immediate and perceived know-
ledge than to abstract concepts, to that which is merely
thought ; they place empirical knowledge before logical.
But this is not the opinion of men who live more in
words than in deeds, who have seen more on paper and
in books than in actual life, and who in their greatest
degeneracy become pedants and lovers of the mere letter.
Thus only is it conceivable that Leibnitz and Wolf and
all their successors could go so far astray as to explain
knowledge of perception, after the example of Duns
Scotus, as merely confused abstract knowledge ! To the
honour of Spinoza, I must mention that his truer sense
led him, on the contrary, to explain all general concepts
as having arisen from the confusion of that which was
known in perception (Eth. II., prop. 40, Schol. 1).
It is also a result of perverted opinion that in mathe-
matics the evidence proper to it was rejected, and
logical evidence alone accepted; that everything in
general which was not abstract knowledge was compre-
hended under the wide name of feeling, and consequently
was little valued; and lastly that the Kantian ethics
regarded the good will which immediately asserts itself
upon knowledge of the circumstances, and guides to
right and good action as mere feeling and emotion, and
consequently as worthless and without merit, and would

H2 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

only recognise actions which proceed from abstract
maxims as having moral worth.

The many-sided view of life as a whole which man,
as distinguished from the lower animals, possesses through
reason, may be compared to a geometrical, colourless,
abstract, reduced plan of his actual life. He, therefore,
stands to the lower animals as the navigator who, by
means of chart, compass, and quadrant, knows accurately
his course and his position at any time upon the sea,
stands to the uneducated sailors who see only the waves
and the heavens. Thus it is worth noticing, and indeed
wonderful, how, besides his life in the concrete, man
always lives another life in the abstract. In the former
he is given as a prey to all the storms of actual life, and
to the influence of the present; he must struggle, suffer,
and die like the brute. But his life in the abstract, as
it lies before his rational consciousness, is the still
reflection of the former, and of the world in which he
lives ; it is just that reduced chart or plan to which we
have referred. Here in the sphere of quiet deliberation,
what completely possessed him and moved him intensely
before, appears to him cold, colourless, and for the
moment external to him ; he is merely the spectator, the
observer. In respect of this withdrawal into reflection
he may be compared to an actor who has played his part
in one scene, and who takes his place among the audience
till it is time for him to go upon the stage again, and
quietly looks on at whatever may happen, even though
it be the preparation for his own death (in the piece),
but afterwards he again goes on the stage and acts and
suffers as he must. From this double life proceeds that
quietness peculiar to human beings, so very different
from the thoughtlessness of the brutes, and with which,
in accordance with previous reflection, or a formed de-
termination, or a recognised necessity, a man suffers or
accomplishes in cold blood, what is of the utmost and
often terrible importance to him ; suicide, execution, the

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 113

duel, enterprises of every kind fraught with danger to life,
and, in general, things against which his whole animal
nature rebels. Under such circumstances we see to what
an extent reason has mastered the animal nature, and we
say to the strong : ai^rjpecop vv toi rjrop ! (ferreum certc
tibi cor), II. 24, 521. Here we can say truly that reason
manifests itself practically, and thus wherever action is
guided by reason, where the motives are abstract concepts,
wherever we are not determined by particular ideas of
perception, nor by the impression of the moment which
guides the brutes, there practical reason shows itself. But
I have fully explained in the Appendix, and illustrated by
examples, that this is entirely different from and unre-
lated to the ethical worth of actions ; that rational action
and virtuous action are two entirely different things ; that
reason may just as well find itself in connection with
great evil as with great good, and by its assistance may
give great power to the one as well as to the other ; that
it is equally ready and valuable for the methodical and
consistent carrying out of the noble and of the bad in-
tention, of the wise as of the foolish maxim ; which all
results from the constitution of its nature, which is
feminine, receptive, retentive, and not spontaneous; all
this I have shown in detail in the Appendix, and illus-
trated by examples. What is said there would have been
placed here, but on account of my polemic against Kant's
pretended practical reason I have been obliged to relegate
it to the Appendix, to which I therefore refer.

The ideal explained in the Stoical philosophy is the
most complete development of practical reason in the true
and genuine sense of the word ; it is the highest summit to
which man can attain by the mere use of his reason, and
in it his difference from the brutes shows itself most dis-
tinctly. For the ethics of Stoicism are originally and
essentially, not a doctrine of virtue, but merely a guide
to a rational life, the end and aim of which is happiness
through peace of mind. Virtuous conduct appears in it

vol. 1. H

II4 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

as it were merely by accident, as the means, not as the
end. Therefore the ethical theory of Stoicism is in its
whole nature and point of view fundamentally different
from the ethical systems which lay stress directly upon
virtue, such as the doctrines of the Vedas, of Plato, of
Christianity, and of Kant. The aim of Stoical ethics is
happiness : reXo? to evhai fioveiv (virtutes omnes finem
habere heatitudincm) it is called in the account of the Stoa
by Stobasus (EcL, L. ii. c. 7, p. 114, and also p. 138).
Yet the ethics of Stoicism teach that happiness can only
be attained with certainty through inward peace and
quietness of spirit (arapa^ia), and that this again can
only be reached through virtue ; this is the whole mean-
ing of the saying that virtue is the highest good. But if
indeed by degrees the end is lost sight of in the means,
and virtue is inculcated in a way which discloses an
interest entirely different from that of one's own happi-
ness, for it contradicts this too distinctly ; this is just one
of those inconsistencies by means of which, in every
system, the immediately known, or, as it is called, felt
truth leads us back to the right way in defiance of
syllogistic reasoning ; as, for example, we see clearly in the
ethical teaching of Spinoza, which deduces a pure doctrine
of virtue from the egoistical snum utile qucerere by means
of palpable sophisms. According to this, as I conceive the
spirit of the Stoical ethics, their source lies in the question
whether the great prerogative of man, reason, which, by
means of planned action and its results, relieves life and
its burdens so much, might not also be capable of freeing
him at once, directly, i.e., through mere knowledge, com-
pletely, or nearly so, of the sorrows and miseries of every
kind of which his life is full. They held that it was not in
keeping with the prerogative of reason that the nature
given with it, which by means of it comprehends and
contemplates an infinity of things and circumstances,
should yet, through the present, and the accidents that
can be contained in the few years of a life that is short,

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 115

fleeting, and uncertain, be exposed to such intense pain,
to such great anxiety and suffering, as arise from the
tempestuous strain of the desires and the antipathies;
and they believed that the due application of reason
must raise men above them, and can make them invul-
nerable. Therefore Antisthenes says : Aa ktckjOcli vow,
f) Ppo^ov (aut mentem parandam, aut laqueum. Plut. de
stoic, repugn., c. 14), ie., life is so full of troubles and
vexations, that one must either rise above it by means of
corrected thoughts, or leave it. It was seen that want
and suffering did not directly and of necessity spring
from not having, but from desiring to have and not
having ; that therefore this desire to have is the neces-
sary condition under which alone it becomes a privation
not to have and begets pain. Ov irevia \xrmp epya^erat,
aXka €7ri,dvfjLi,a (non paupertas dolor em efficit, sed cupiditas),
Epict., fragm. 25. Men learned also from experience that
it is only the hope of what is claimed that begets and
nourishes the wish ; therefore neither the many unavoid-
able evils which are common to all, nor unattainable
blessings, disquiet or trouble us, but only the trifling
more or less of those things which we can avoid or attain ;
indeed, not only what is absolutely unavoidable or un-
attainable, but also what is merely relatively so, leaves
us quite undisturbed; therefore the ills that have once
become joined to our individuality, or the good things
that must of necessity always be denied us, are treated
with indifference, in accordance with the peculiarity of
human nature that every wish soon dies and can no more
beget pain if it is not nourished by hope. It followed
from all this that happiness always depends upon the
proportion between our claims and what we receive. It
is all one whether the quantities thus related be great or
small, and the proportion can be established just as well
by diminishing the amount of the first as by increasing
the amount of the second ; and in the same way it also
follows that all suffering proceeds from the want of pro-

Il6 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

portion between what we demand and expect and what
we get. Now this want of proportion obviously lies
only in knowledge, and it could be entirely abolished
through fuller insight1 Therefore Chrysippus says : Se*
fyv kclt efiireipiav rcov 4>vaei (rvfi(3aivovr(ov (Stob. Eel., L.
ii. c. 7, p. 134), that is, one ought to live with a due
knowledge of the transitory nature of the things of the
world. °For as often as a man loses self-command, or is
struck down by a misfortune, or grows angry, or becomes
faint-hearted, he shows that he finds things different from
what he expected, consequently that he was caught in
error, and did not know the world and life, did not know
that the will of the individual is crossed at every step by
the chance of inanimate nature and the antagonism of
aims and the wickedness of other individuals: he has
therefore either not made use of his reason in order to
arrive at a general knowledge of this characteristic of
life, or he lacks judgment, in that he does not recognise
in the particular what he knows in general, and is
therefore surprised by it and loses his self-command.
Thus also every keen pleasure is an error and an illusion,
for no attained wish can give lasting satisfaction; and,
moveover, every possession and every happiness is but
lent by chance for an uncertain time, and may therefore
be demanded back the next hour. All pain rests on the
passing away of such an illusion ; thus both arise from
defective knowledge ; the wise man therefore holds him-
self equally aloof from joy and sorrow, and no event
disturbs his arapa&a-

In accordance with this spirit and aim of the Stoa,
Epictetus began and ended with the doctrine as the kernel

1 Omnes perturbationes judicio avOpuron xavr^v twv jtaKW*, to rat

censent fieri et opinione. Cic. */>o\#cts ras /cotvas w Swacrflai

Tusc 4 6 Tapaffffei tovs avOpwtcovs e<papfio^iv tcus eiri pepovs t±lffiO

ou'ra'^Ta, oXXa ra repc rwv est causa mortalibus omnium ma-

xpayuarJ tory/iara (Perturbant lorum, non pc.sse communes notionei

homines non res ipsa, sed de rebus nptarc singulanbus). Lpict. dissert.,

opiniones). Epictet., c. v. ii., 26.

- Toirro yap e<m to axriov rots

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 117

of his philosophy, that we should consider well and dis-
tinguish what depends upon us and what does not, and
therefore entirely avoid counting upon the latter, whereby
we shall certainly remain free from all pain, sorrow, and
anxiety. But that which alone is dependent upon us is
the will ; and here a transition gradually takes place to
a doctrine of virtue, for it is observed that as the outer
world, which is independent of us, determines good and
bad fortune, so inner contentment with ourselves, or the
absence of it, proceeds from the will. But it was then
asked whether we ought to apply the words honum and
malum to the two former or to the two latter ? This was
indeed arbitrary and a matter of choice, and did not
make any real difference, but yet the Stoics disputed
everlastingly with the Peripatetics and Epicureans about
it, and amused themselves with the inadmissible com-
parison of two entirely incommensurable quantities, and
the antithetical, paradoxical judgments which proceeded
from them, and which they flung at each other. The
Paradoxa of Cicero afford us an interesting collection of
these from the Stoical side.

Zeno, the founder, seems originally to have followed a
somewhat different path. The starting-point with him
was that for the attainment of the highest good, i.e.,
blessedness and spiritual peace, one must live in harmony
with oneself (o/jbokoyovfievax; gyw tovto Wean /caff eva
\oyov Kai crvfKpwvov tyv. — Consonanter vivere : hoc est
secundum, unam rationem et concordem sibi vivere. Stob.
Eel. eth. L. ii, c 7, p. 132. Also: Aperrjv hiaQeaiv eivai
tyvyrfi avfJL<f>G)vov eavrrj irepi oKov tov fiiov. Virtutem
esse animi affectionem secum per totam vitam consentientem,
ibid., p. 104.) Now this was only possible for a man if
he determined himself entirely rationally, according to
concepts, not according to changing impressions and
moods ; since, however, only the maxims of our conduct,
not the consequences nor the outward circumstances, are
in our power, in order to be always consistent we must set

n8 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

before us as our aim only the maxims and not the con-
sequences and circumstances, and thus again a doctrine
of virtue is introduced.

But the ethical principle of Zeno — to live in harmony
with oneself — appeared even to his immediate successors
to be too formal and empty. They therefore gave it
material content by the addition — " to live in harmony
with nature " (ofjuokoyovfievcos ttj (pvcrei tyv), which, as
Stobaeus mentions in another place, was lirst added by
Kleanthes, and extended the matter very much on account
of the wide sphere of the concept and the vagueness of
the expression. For Kleanthes meant the whole of
nature in general, while Chrysippus meant human nature
in particular (Diog. Laert., 7, 89). It followed that
what alone was adapted to the latter was virtue, just as
the satisfaction of animal desires was adapted to animal
natures ; and thus ethics had again to be forcibly united
to a doctrine of virtue, and in some way or other estab-
lished through physics. For the Stoics always aimed at
unity of principle, as for them God and the world were
not dissevered.

The ethical system of Stoicism, regarded as a whole, is
in fact a very valuable and estimable attempt to use the
great prerogative of man, reason, for an important and
salutary end ; to raise him above the suffering and pain
to which all life is exposed, by means of a maxim —

" Qva ratione queas traducere leniter cevum :
Ne te semper inops agitet vexetque cvjrido,
Ne pavor et rerum mediocriter utilium spes"

and thus to make him partake, in the highest degree, of
the dignity which belongs to him as a rational being,
as distinguished from the brutes ; a dignity of winch,
in this sense at any rate, we can speak, though not
in any other. It is a consequence of my view of the
ethical system of Stoicism that it must be explained
at the part of my work at which I consider what

THE WORLD AS IDEA. 119

reason is and what it can do. But although it may to
a certain extent be possible to attain that end through
the application of reason, and through a purely rational
system of ethics, and although experience shows that the
happiest men are those purely rational characters com-
monly called practical philosophers, — and rightly so, be-
cause just as the true, that is, the theoretical philospher
carries life into the concept, they carry the concept into
life, — yet it is far from the case that perfection can be
I attained in this way, and that the reason, rightly used,
can really free us from the burden and sorrow of life, and
lead us to happiness. Eather, there lies an absolute con-
tradiction in wishing to live without suffering, and this
contradiction is also implied in the commonly used ex-
pression, " blessed life." This will become perfectly clear
to whoever comprehends the whole of the following expo-
sition. In this purely rational system of ethics the con-
tradiction reveals itself thus, the Stoic is obliged in his
doctrine of the way to the blessed life (for that is what his
ethical system always remains) to insert a recommenda-
tion of suicide (as among the magnificent ornaments and
apparel of Eastern despots there is always a costly vial
of poison) for the case in which the sufferings of the body,
which cannot be philosophised away by any principles or
syllogistic reasonings, are paramount and incurable ; thus
its one aim, blessedness, is rendered vain, and nothing
remains as a mode of escape from suffering except death ;
in such a case then death must be voluntarily accepted,
just as we would take any other medicine. Here then a
marked antagonism is brought out between the ethical
system of Stoicism and all those systems referred to above
which make virtue in itself directly, and accompanied by
the most grievous sorrows, their aim, and will not allow
a man to end his life in order to escape from suffering.
Not one of them, however, was able to give the true
reason for the rejection of suicide, but they laboriously
collected illusory explanations from all sides : the true

120 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

reason will appear in the Fourth Book in the course of the
development of our system. But the antagonism referred
to reveals and establishes the essential difference in funda-
mental principle between Stoicism, which is just a special
form of endaemonism, and those doctrines we have men-
tioned, although both are often at one in their results,
and are apparently related. And the inner contradiction
referred to above, with which the ethical system of
Stoicism is affected even in its fundamental thought,
shows itself further in the circumstance that its ideal,
the Stoic philosopher, as the system itself represents him,
could never obtain life or inner poetic truth, but remains
a wooden, stiff lay-figure of which nothing can be made.
He cannot himself make use of his wisdom, and his
perfect peace, contentment, and blessedness directly con-
tradict the nature of man, and preclude us from forming
any concrete idea of him. When compared with him, how
entirely different appear the overcomers of the world, and
voluntary hermits that Indian philosophy presents to us,
and has actually produced ; or indeed, the holy man of
Christianity, that excellent form full of deep life, of the
greatest poetic truth, and the highest significance, which
stands before us in perfect virtue, holiness, and sublimity,
yet in a state of supreme suffering.1

1 Cf. Ch. 1 6 of Supplement.

THE WORLD AS WILL.

FIRST ASPECT.

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL.

Nos habitat, non tartara, sed nee sidera coeli »
Spiritus, in nobis qui viyet, ilia facit.

( I23 )

ill.
§ 17. In the first book we considered the idea
merely as such, that is, only according to its general
form. It is true that as far as the abstract idea, the
concept, is concerned, we obtained a knowledge of it in
'respect of its content also, because it has content and
meaning only in relation to the idea of perception, with-
out which it would hftjaww4h]pfss and emjQty. Accordingly,
directing our attention exclusively to the idea of per-

0 ception, we shall now endeavour to arrive at a knowledge
of its content, its more exact definition, and the forms
which it presents to us. And it will specially interest
us to find an explanation of its peculiar significance,
that significance which is otherwise merely felt, but on
account of which it is that these pictures do not pass by
us entirely strange and meaningless, as they must other-

*» wise do, but speak to us directly, are understood, and
obtain an interest which concerns our whole nature.

We direct our attention to mathematics, natural
science, and philosophy, for each of these holds out the
hope that it will afford us a part of the explanation we
desire. Now, taking philosophy first, we find that it is
like a monster with many heads, each of which speaks a
different language. They are not, indeed, all at variance
on the point we are here considering, the significance of

• the idea of perception. For, with the exception of the
Sceptics and the Idealists, the others, for the most part, speak

^ very much in the same way of an object which constitutes
the basis of the idea, and which is indeed different in its
whole being and nature from the idea, but yet is in all

124

THE WORLD AS WILL. UK. n.

points as like it as one egg is to another. But^this does
not help us, for we are quite unable to distinguish such
an object from the idea ; we find that they are one and
the same ; for every object always and for ever presup-
poses a subject, and therefore remains idea, so that we
recognised objectivity as belonging to the most universal
form of the idea, which is the division into subject and
object. Further, the principle of sufficient reason, which
is referred to in support of this doctrine, is for us merely
the form of the idea, the orderly combination of one idea
with another, but not the combination of the whole finite
or infinite series of ideas with something which is not
idea at all, and which cannot therefore be presented in
perception. Of the Sceptics and Idealists we spoke
above, in examining the controversy about the reality of
the outer world.

If we turn to mathematics to look for the fuller
knowledge we desire of the idea of perception, which we
have, as yet, only understood generally, merely in its
form, we find that mathematics only treats of these
ideas so far as they fill time and space, that is, so
far as they are quantities. It will tell us with the
greatest accuracy the how-many and the how-much;
but as this is always merely relative, that is to say,
merely a comparison of one idea with others, and a com-
parison only in the one respect of quantity, this also is
not the information we are principally in search of.

Lastly, if we turn to the wide province of natural
science, which is divided into many fields, we may, in the
first place, make a general division of it into two parts.
It is either the description of forms, which I call Mor-
phology, or the explanation of changes, which I call
Etiology. The first treats of the permanent forms, the
second of the changing matter, according to the laws of
its transition from one form to another. The first is
the whole extent of what is generally called natural
history. It teaches us, especially in the sciences of

THE 0BJECTIF1CAT10N OF THE WILL. 125

botany and zoology, the various permanent, organised,
and therefore definitely determined forms in the constant
change of individuals ; and these forms constitute a great
part of the content of the idea of perception. In natural
history they are classified, separated, united, arranged
according to natural and artificial systems, and brought
under concepts which make a general view and know-
ledge of the whole of them possible. Further, an
infinitely fine analogy both in the whole and in the
parts of these forms, and running through them all
{unite de plan), is established, and thus they may be com-
pared to innumerable variations on a theme which is not
given. The passage of matter into these forms, that is to
say, the origin of individuals, is not a special part of
natural science, for every individual springs from its like
by generation, which is everywhere equally mysterious,
and has as yet evaded definite knowledge. The little that
is known on the subject finds its place in physiology,
which belongs to that part of natural science I have called
etiology. Mineralogy also, especially where it becomes
geology, inclines towards etiology, though it principally
belongs to morphology. Etiology proper comprehends all
those branches of natural science in which the chief con-
cern is the knowledge of cause and eilect. The sciences
teach how, according to an invariable rule, one condition
of matter is necessarily followed by a certain other condi-
tion ; how one change necessarily conditions and brings
about a certain other change ; this sort of teaching is called
explanation. The principal sciences in this department
are mechanics, physics, chemistry, and physiology.

If, however, we surrender ourselves to its teaching, we
soon become convinced that etiology cannot afford us the
information we chiefly desire, any more than morphology.
The latter presents to us innumerable and infinitely
varied forms, which are yet related by an unmistakable
family likeness. These are for us ideas, and when only
treated in this way, they remain always strange to us.

126 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. ii.

and stand before us like hieroglyphics which we do not
understand. Etiology, on the other hand, teaches us that,
according to the law of cause and effect, this particular
condition of matter brings about that other particular
condition, and thus it has explained it and performed its
part. However, it really does nothing more than indi-
cate the orderly arrangement according to which the
states of matter appear in space and time, and teach in
all cases what phenomenon must necessarily appear at a
particular time in a particular place. It thus determines
the position of phenomena in time and space, according
to a law whose special content is derived from experience,
but whose universal form and necessity is yet known to
us independently of experience. But it affords us abso-
lutely no information about the inner nature of any one
of these phenomena : this is called a force of nature, and
it lies outside the province of causal explanation, winch
calls the constant uniformity with which manifestations
of such a force appear whenever their known conditions
are present, a law of nature. But this law of nature,
these conditions, and this appearance in a particular
place at a particular time, are all that it knows or ever
can know. The force itself which manifests itself, the
inner nature of the phenomena which appear in accord-
ance with these laws, remains always a secret to it,
something entirely strange and unknown in the case of
the simplest as well as of the most complex phenomena.
For although as yet etiology has most completely
achieved its aim in mechanics, and least completely in
physiology, still the force on account of which a stone
falls to the ground or one body repels another is, in its
inner nature, not less strange and mysterious than that
which produces the movements and the growth of an
animal. The science of mechanics presupposes matter,
weight, impenetrability, the possibility of communicating
motion by impact, inertia and so forth as ultimate facts,
calls them forces of nature, and their necessary and

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. 127

orderly appearance under certain conditions a law of
nature. Only after this does its explanation begin, and
it consists in indicating truly and with mathematical
exactness, how, where and when each force manifests
itself, and in referring every phenomenon which presents
itself to the operation of one of these forces. Physics,
chemistry, and physiology proceed in the same way in
their province, only they presuppose more and accom-
plish less. Consequently the most complete etiological #
explanation oftne whole of nature can never be more
than an enumeration of forces which cannot be explained,
and a reliable statement of the rule according to which
phenomena appear in time and space, succeed, and make
way for each other. But the inner nature of the forces
which thus appear remains unexplained by such an ex-
planation, which must confine itself to phenomena and
their arrangement, because the law which it follows does
not extend further. In this respect it may be compared
to a section of a piece of marble which shows many veins
beside each other, but does not allow us to trace the
course of the veins from the interior of the marble to its
oirrface. Or, if I may use an absurd but more striking* i
comparison, the philosophical investigator must always I
have the same feeling towards the complete etiology of
the whole of nature, as a man who, without knowing how,
has been brought into a company quite unknown to him, j
each member of which in turn presents another to him
as his friend and cousin, and therefore as quite well
known, and yet the man himself, while at each intro-
duction he expresses himself gratified, has always the
question on his lips : " But how the deuce do I stand to
the whole company ?"

Thus we see that, with regard to those phenomena
which we know only as our ideas, etiology can never
give us the desired information that shall carry us be-
yond this point. For, after all its explanations, they still
remain quite strange to us, as mere ideas whose signifi-

I28 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. ii.

cance we do not understand. The causal connection
merely gives us the rule and the relative order of their
' appearance in space and time, but affords us no further
knowledge of that which so appears. Moreover, the law
of causality itself has only validity for ideas, for objects
of a definite class, and it has meaning only in so far as it
presupposes them. Thus, like these objects themselves,
it always exists only in relation to a subject, that is, con-
ditionally; and so it is known just as well if we
start from the subject, i.e., a priori, as if we start from
the object, i.e., a posteriori. Kant indeed has taught us
this.

But what now impels us to inquiry is just that we are
not satisfied with knowing that we have ideas, that they
are such and such, and that they are connected according
to certain laws, the general expression of which is the
principle of sufficient reason. We wish to know the
• significance of these ideas ; we ask whether this world is
merely idea ; in which case it would pass by us like an
empty dream or a baseless vision, not worth our notice ;
or whether it is also something else, something more than
idea, and if so, what Thus much is certain, that this
^ something we seek for must be completely and in its
whole nature different from the idea ; that the forms and
laws of the idea must therefore be completely foreign to
it; further, that we cannot arrive at it from the idea
under the guidance of the laws which merely combine
objects, ideas, among themselves, and which are the forms
of the principle of sufficient reason.

Thus we see already that we can never arrive at the
. real nature of things from without. However much we
investigate, we can never reach anything but images and
names. We are like a man who goes round a castle
seeking in vain for an entrance, and sometimes sketcliing
the facades. And yet this is the method that has been
followed by all philosophers before me.
r S 1 8. In fact, the meaning for which we seek of that

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. 129

world which is present to us only as our idea, or the
transition from the world as mere idea of the knowing
subject to whatever it may be besides this, would never be
found if the investigator himself were nothing more than
the pure knowing subject (a winged cherub without a
body). But he is himself rooted in that world ; he finds
himself in it as an individual, that is to say, his know-
ledge, which is the necessary supporter of the whole
world as idea, is yet always given through the medium of
a body, whose affections are, as we have shown, the start-
9 ing-point for the understanding in the perception of that
worldJ^His body is, for the pure knowing subject, an

• idea Cke every other idea, an object among objects. Its
movements and actions are so far known to him in pre-

\ cisely the same way as the changes of all other perceived
objects, and would be just as strange and incompre-
hensible to him if their meaning were not explained^ f or
him in., an entirely different way. Otherwise he would
see his actions follow upon given motives with the con-
stancy of a law of nature, just as the changes of other
objects follow upon causes, stimuli, or motives. But he
would not understand the influence of the motives any
more than the connection between every other effect
which he sees and its cause. He would then call the
inner nature of these manifestations and actions of his

# body which he did not understand a force, a quality, or
a character, as he pleased, but he would have no further
insight into it. But all this is not the case ; indeed^the
answer to the ricTale is given to the subject of know-

f ledge who appears as an individual, and the answer is
will. This and this alone gives him the key to his own

» existence, reveals to him the significance, shows him the
inner mechanism of his being, of his action, of his move-
ments. The body is given in two entirely different ways

^to the subject of knowledge, who becomes an individual
only through his identity with it. It is given as an idea •
in intelligent perception, as an object among objects and
vol. 1. 1

v

i3o

THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. 11

subject to the laws of objects. And it is also given in

* quite a different way as that which is immediately known
to every one, and is signified by the word will. J Every
true act of his will is also at once and without

* exception a movement of his body. The act of will and
the movement of the body are not two different things
objectively known, which the bond of causality unites;
they do not stand in the relation of cause and effect;
they are one and the same, but they are given in

*' entirely different ways^unmediately, and again in
perception for the understanding. Inaction of the

, body is nothing but the act of the wit objectified, i.e.,
passed into perception. It will appear later that this is
true of every movement of the body, i.ot merely those

• which follow upon motives, but also involuntary move-
ments which follow upon mere stimuli,>^nd, indeed, that

x the whole body is nothing but objectified will, i.e., will
become idea. All this will be proved and made quite
clear in the course of this work. In one respect, there-
fore, I shall call the body the objectivity of will ; as in
the previous book, and in the essay on the principle of
sufficient reason, in accordance with the one-sided point
of view intentionally adopted there (that of the idea), I
called it the immediate object. Thus in a certain sense

j we may also say that will is the knowledge a priori of
the body, and the body is the knowledge a posteriori of
the will. Resolutions of the will which relate to the
future are merely deliberations of the reason about what
we shall will at a particular time, not real acts of wilL

y Only the carrying out of the resolve stamps it as will, for
till then it is never more than an intention that may be
changed, and that exists only in the reason in abstracto.
It is only in reflection that to will and to act are different ;
in reality they are one. Every true, genuine, immediate

. act of will is also, at once and immediately, a visible act
of the body. And, corresponding to this, every inipres-

• sion upon the body is also, on the other hand, at once

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL.

131

and immediately an impression upon the will. As such
I it is called pain when it is opposed to the will ; gratifi- ,
cation or pleasure when it is in accordance with it. The
degrees of both are widely different. It is quite wrong, ~
r however, to call pain and pleasure ideas, for they are by
} no means ideas, but immediate affections of the will in *)
I its manifestation, the body ; compulsory, instantaneous
I willing or not-willing of the impression which the body
tustains. There are only a few impressions of the body ,
which do not touch the will, and it is through these alone *
that the body is an immediate object of knowledge, for,
as perceived by the understanding, it is already an indi-
rect object like aU others. These impressions are, there-
fore, to be treated directly as mere ideas, and excepted
from what has been said. The impressions we refer to
are the affections of the purely objective senses of sight,
hearing, and touch, though only so far as these organs^are"
affected in the way which is specially peculiar to their
specific nature. This affection of them is so excessively
weak an excitement of the heightened and specifically
modified sensibility of these parts that it does not affect
the will, but only furnishes the understanding with the
data out of which the perception arises, undisturbed by
any excitement of the will But every stronger or diffe-
rent kind of affection of these organs of sense is painful,
that is to say, against the will, and thus they also belong *
to its objectivity. Weakness of the nerves shows itself
in this, that the impressions which have only such a
degree of strength as would usually be sufficient to make
them data for the understanding reach the higher degree
at which they influence the will, that is to say, give pain
or pleasure, though more often pain, which is, however,
to some extent deadened and inarticulate, so that not only
particular tones and strong light are painful to us, but
there ensues a generally unhealthy and hypochondriacal
disposition which is not distinctly understood. The
identity of the bodv and the will shows itself further '

,32 THE WORLD AS WILL. BK. II.

among other ways, in the circumstance that every vehe-
% ment and excessive movement of the will, Le.t every
emotion, agitates the body and its inner constitution
directly and disturbs the course of its vital functions.
This is shown in detail in " Will in Nature," p. 27 of the
second edition and p. 28 of the third.

Lastly, the knowledge which I have of my will, though
. it iTunmediate, cannot be separated from that which I
have of my body. P f know my will, not as a whole, not
as a unity, not completely, according to its nature, but I
k know it only in its particular acts, and therefore in time,
• which is the form of the phenomenal aspect of my body,
/ as of every object^ Therefore the body is a condition of
• the knowledge of my will. Thus, I cannot really imagine
this will apart from my body.j In the essay on the
principle of sufficient reason, the will, or rather the sub-
ject of willing, is treated as a special class of ideas or
objects. But even there we saw this object become one
with the subject; that is, we saw it cease to be an
object. We there called this union the miracle ko,t
ePoyvv, and the whole of the present work is to a certain
extent an explanation of this. So far as I know my
will specially as 'object, I know it as body. But then I
am aoain at the first class of ideas laid down m that
essay,° ie., real objects. As we proceed we shall see
always more clearly that these ideas of the first class
obtain their explanation and solution from those of the
fourth class given in the essay, which could no longer be
properly opposed to the subject as object, and that, there-
fore we must learn to understand the inner nature of the
law'of causality which is valid in the first class, and of
all that happens in accordance with it from the law of
motivation which governs the fourth class.

The identity of the will and the body, of which we
have now given a cursory explanation, can only be proved in
the manner we have adopted here. We have proved
this identity for the first time, and shall do so more and

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. 133

more fully in the course of this work. Bv_ " proved "
we mean raised from the immediate consciousness, from
knowledge in the concrete to abstract knowledge of the
reason, or carried over into abstract knowledge. On the
ofcher hand, from its very nature it can never be demon-
strated, that is, deduced as indirect knowledge from some
other more direct knowledge, just because it is itself the
most direct knowledge; and if we do not apprehend it and
stick to it as such, we shall expect in vain to receive it
again in some indirect way as derivative knowledge. It
is knowledge of quite a special kind, whose truth cannot
therefore properly be brought under any of the four
rubrics under which I have classified all truth in the
essay on the principle of sufficient reason, § 29, the
logical, the empirical, the metaphysical, and the meta-
logical, for it is not, like all these, the relation of an
abstract idea to another idea, or to the necessary form
of perceptive or of abstract ideation, but it is the relation,
of a judgment to the connection which an idea of per-
ception, the body, has to that which is not an idea at
all, but something toto genere different, will. I should
like therefore to distinguish this from all other truth,
and call it kclt e^o^W philosophical truth. We can
turn the expression of this truth in different ways and
say : My body and my will are one ; — or, What as an idea
of perception I call my body, I call my will, so far as I am
conscious of it in an entirely different way which cannot
be compared to any other ; — or, My body is the objectivity
of my will ; — or, My body considered apart from the fact
that it is my idea is still my will, and so forth.1

§ 1 9. In the first book we were reluctantly driven to
explain the human body as merely idea of the subject
which knows it, like all the other objects of this world
of perception. But it has now become clear that what
enables us consciously to distinguish our own body from
all other objects which in other respects are precisely the

1 Cf. Ch. xviii. of the Supplement.

i34 THE WORLD AS WILL. BK. IL

same, is that our body appears in consciousness in quite
another way toto generc different from idea, and this we
denote by the word will ; and that it is just this double
knowledge which we have of our own body that affords
us information about it, about its action and movement
following on motives, and also about what it experiences
by means of external impressions ; in a word, about what
it is, not as idea, but as more than idea ; that is to say,
what it is in itself. None of this information have we
got directly with regard to the nature, action, and ex-
perience of other real objects.

It is just because of this special relation to one body
that the knowing subject is an individual. For regarded
apart from this relation, his body is for him only an idea
like all other ideas. But the relation through which the
knowing subject is an individual, is just on that account,
a relation which subsists only between him and one par-
ticular idea of all those which he has. Therefore he is
conscious of this one idea, not merely as an idea, but in
quite a different way as a will. If, however, he abstracts
from that special relation, from that twofold and com-
pletely heterogeneous knowledge of what is one and the
same, then that one, the body, is an idea like all other
ideas. Therefore, in order to understand the matter, the
individual who knows must either assume that what
distinguishes that one idea from others is merely the
fact that his knowledge stands in this double relation to it
alone ; that insight in two ways at the same time is open
to him only in the case of this one object of perception,
and that this is to be explained not by the difference of this
object from all others, but only by the difference between
the relation of liis knowledge to this one object, and its re-
lation to all other objects. Or else he must assume that
this object is essentially different from all others ; that it
alone of all objects is at once both will and idea, while
the rest are only ideas, i.e., only phantoms. Thus he
must assume that lus body is the only real individual in

,b
/ oj

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. 135

fche world, i.e., the only phenomenon of will and the only
immediate object of the subject. That other objects,
considered merely as ideas, are like his body, that is, like
it, fill space (which itself can only be present as idea),
and also, like it, are causally active in space, is indeed
demonstrably certain from the law of causality which is
a priori valid for ideas, and which admits of no effect
without a cause ; but apart from the fact that we can
only reason from an effect to a cause generally, and not
to a similar cause, we are still in the sphere of mere
ideas, in which alone the law of causality . is., valid, and
beyond which it can never take us. Bute whether the
objects known to the individual only as ideas are yet,
like his own body, manifestations of a will, is, as way
said in the First Book, the proper meaning of the question
as to the reality of the external world. To deny this is
theoretical egoism, which on that account regards all
phenomena that are outside its own will as phantoms, just
as in a practical reference exactly the same thing is done
by practical egoism. For in it a man regards and treats
himself alone as a person, and all other persons as mere
phantoms. Theoretical egoism can never be demon-
strably refuted, yet in philosophy it has never been used
otherwise than as a sceptical sophism, i.e., a pretence.
As a serious conviction, on the other hand, it could only
e found in a madhouse, and as such it stands in need
of a cure rather than a refutation. We do not therefore
combat it any . further in this regard, but treat it as
merely the last stronghold of scepticism, which is always
polemical. Thus our knowledge, which is always bound
to mdividuaGEy^and is limited by this circumstance,
brings with it the necessity that each of us can only he
one, while, on the other hand, each of us can know all ;
and it is this limitation that creates the need for philo-
sophy. We therefore who, for this very reason, are striving
to extend the limits of our knowledge through philosophy,
will treat this sceptical argument of theoretical egoism

136 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. U.

which meets us, as an army would treat a small frontier
fortress. The fortress cannot indeed be taken, but the
garrison can never sally forth from it, and therefore we
pass it by without danger, and are not afraid to have it
in our rear.

The double knowledge which each of us has of the
nature and activity of his own body, and which is given
in two completely different ways, has now been clearly
brought out 'VVe^sJiall accordingly make further use of
it as ajgey to the nature of every phenomenon in nature,
and shall judge of all objects which are not our own
bodies, and are consequently not given to our conscious-

v ness in a double way but only as ideas, according to the
analogy of our own bodies, and shall therefore assume
that as in one aspect they are idea, just like our bodies,
and in this respect are analogous to them, so in another
aspect, what remains of objects when we set aside their
, existence as idea of the subject, must in its inner nature
be the same as that in us winch we call will. For what
other kind of existence or reality should we attribute to
the rest of the material world ? Whence should we take
the elements out of which we construct such a world ?
I Besides will and idea nothing is known to us or thinkable.
If we wish to attribute the greatest known reality to the
material world which exists immediately only in our
idea, we give it the reality which our own body has for
each of us ; for that is the most real thing for every one. <
But if we now analyse the reality of this body and its
actions, beyond the fact that it is idea, we find nothing
in it except the will ; with tins its reality is exhausted. *
Therefore we can nowhere find another kind of reality
which we can attribute to the material world. Thus if
we hold that the material world is something more than
merely our idea, we must say that besides being idea, that
is, in itself and according to its inmost nature, it is that

* which we find immediately in ourselves as will. 1 say
according to its inmost nature; but we must first come

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. 137

to know more accurately this real nature of the will, in
order that we may be able to distinguish from it what
does not belong to itself, but to its manifestation, which
has many grades. Such, for example, is the circum-
stance of its being accompanied by knowledge, and the
determination by motives which is conditioned by this
knowledge. As we shall see farther on, this does not
belong to the real nature of will, but merely to its dis-
tinct manifestation as an animal or a human being. If,
therefore I say, — the force which attracts a stone to the
earth is according to its nature, in itself, and apart from
all idea, will, I shall not be supposed to express in this
proposition the insane opinion that the stone moves itself
in accordance with a known motive, merely because this
is the way in which will appears in man.1 We shall
now proceed more clearly and in detail to prove, estab-
lish, and develop to its full extent what as yet has only
been provisionally and generally explained.2

§ 20. As we have said, the will proclaims itself primarily
in the voluntary movements of our own body, as the
inmost nature of this body, as that which it is besides
being object of perception, idea. For these voluntary
movements are nothing else than the visible aspect of the
"individual acts of will, with which they are directly coin-
cident and identical, and only distinguished through the
form of knowledge into which they have passed, and in
which alone they can be known, the form of idea.

But these acts of will have always a ground or reason
I outside themselves in^ motives. Yet these motives never
* determine more than what I will at this time, in this

1 We can thus by no means agree Planeta Martis, that the planets

with Bacon if he (DeAugm. Scient., must have knowledge in order to

L. iv. in fine.) thinks that all me- keep their elliptical courses so cor-

chanical and physical movement of rectly, and to regulate the velocity

bodies has always been preceded of their motion so that the triangle

by perception in these bodies; though of the plane of their course always

a glimmering of truth lies at the remains proportional to the time in

bottom of this false proposition, which they pass through its base.

This is also the case with Kepler's 2 Cf . Ch. xix. of the Supplement,
opinion, expressed in his essay De

138 THE WORLD AS WILL. BK. H

place, and under these circumstances, not that I will in
general, or what I will in general, that is, the maxims
which characterise my volition generally. Therefore the
inner nature of my volition cannot bejsxplained from ihesa-
motives ; but they merely determine its manifestation at
a given point of time : they are merely the occasion of
my will showing itself ; but the will itself lies outside
the province of the law of motivation, which determines
nothing but its appearance at each point of time, /it is
only under the presupposition of my empirical character
that the motive is a sufficient ground of explanation of
my action. But if I abstract from my character, and
then ask, wky,~m general, I will this and not that, no
answer is possible, because it is only, thajaanifestation of
the will that is subject to the principle, of sufficient-
reason, and not the will itself, which in this respect is to
be called groundless. // At this point I presuppose Kant's
doctrine of the empirical and intelligible character, and
also my own treatment of the subject in " The Funda-
mental Problems of Ethics," pp. 48, 58, and 178, et seq.t
of first edition (p. 174, et seq., of second edition). I
shall also have to speak more fully on the question in
the Fourth Book. For the present, I have only to draw
attention to this, that the fact of one manifestation being
established through another, as here the deed through the
motive, does not at all conflict with the fact that its real
nature is will, winch itself has no ground ; for as the
principle of sufficient reason in all its aspects is only the
form of knowledge, its validity extends only to the idea,
to the phenomena, to the visibility of the will, but not to
the will itself, winch becomes visible.

4f jiow every action of my body is the manifestation of
an act of will in which my will itself in general, and as
a whole, thus my character, expresses itself under given
motives, manifestation of the will must be the inevitable
condition and presupposition of every action. For the
fact of its manifestation cannot depend upon something

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. 139

which does not exist directly and only through it, which
consequently is for it merely accidental, and through
which its manifestation itself would be merely accidental.
Now that condition is just the whole body itself. Thus ;
the body itself must be manifestation of the will, and it •
must be related to my will as a whole, that is, to my
intelligible character, whose phenomenal appearance in
time is my empirical character, as the particular action
of the body is related to the particular act of the
will. The whole body, then, must be simply my will
become visible, must be my will itself, so far as this is
object of perception, an idea of the first class^ It has
already been advanced in confirmation^ of this that every
impression upon my body also affects my will at once
and immediately, and in this respect is called pain or
pleasure, or, in its lower degrees, agreeable or disagree-
able sensation ; and also, conversely, that every violent
movement of the will, every emotion or passion, convulses
the body and disturbs the course of its functions^ Indeed
we can also give an etiological account, though a very
incomplete one, of the origin of my body, and a some-
what better account of its development and conservation,
and this is the substance of physiology. But physiology
merely explains its theme in precisely the same way as
motives explain action. Thus the physiological explana-
tion of the functions of the body detracts just as little
from the philosophical truth that the whole existence of
%thisJjody^ and ^ the .jumJ^aJ^pjLi^ . luoiSonillarZImSelJ-..
t}ij^ objectificatio^ which appears~4a it*

oju^ward^jictions in . jLCCordance with. a.mQtive, as the
establishment of the individual action through the motive
and the necessary sequence of the action from the motive
conflicts with the fact that action in general, and accord-
ing to its nature, is only the manifestation of a will which
itself has no ground. If, however, physiology tries to
refer even these outward actions, the immediate voluntary
movements, to causes in the organism, — for example, if it

i4o THE WORLD AS WILL. bk.il

explains the movement of the muscles as resulting from
the presence of fluids (" like the contraction of a cord
when it is wet," says Reil in his " Archiv fur Physio-
logic," vol. vi. p. 153), even supposing it really could
give a thorough explanation of this kind, yet this would
never invalidate the immediately certain truth that; RYftry

% voluntary motion (functioncs nmAfmnh^y fa ftlfl BMP'fejjjgi.
felon of an act~of will. Now, just as little can the
physiological explanation of vegetative life (functiones
naturales vitales), however far it may advance, ever

^ invalidate the truth that the whole. .animal. .life which
tJb.us develops itself is the manifestation of will. In
general, then, as we have shown above, no etiological
explanation can ever give us more than the necessarily
determined position in time and space of a particular
manifestation, its necessary appearance there, according to
a fixed law; but the inner nature of everything that
appears in this way remains wholly inexplicable, and is
presupposed by every etiological explanation, and merely
indicated by the names, force, or law of nature, or, if we
are speaking of action, character or will. Thus, although
every particular action, under the presupposition of the
definite character, necessarily follows from the given
motive, and although growth, the process of nourish-
ment, and all the changes of the animal body take place
according to necessarily acting causes (stimuli), yet the

9 whole series of actions, and consequently every individual
act, and also its condition, the whole body itself which
accomplishes it, and therefore also the process through
which and in which it exists, are nothing but the mani-
festation of the will, the becoming visible, jhj> nfycr.tifi/w-
tion of the will Upon this rests the perfect suitableness
of the human and animal body to the human and animal
will in general, resembling, though far surpassing, the
correspondence between an instrument made for a pur-
pose and the will of the maker, and on this account
appearing as design, i.e., the teleological explanation of

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. 141

the body. The parts of the body must, therefore, com-
pletely correspond to the principal desires through which
the will manifests itself ; they must be the visible expres-
sion of these desires. Teeth, throat, and bowels are
objectified hunger; the organs of generation are objecti-
fied sexual desire; the grasping hand, the hurrying feet,
correspond to the more indirect desires of the will which
they express. As the human form generally corresponds
to the human will generally, so the individual bodily
structure corresponds to the individually modified will,
the character of the individual, and therefore it is through-
out and in all its parts characteristic and full of expres-
sion It is very remarkable that Parmenides already
gave expression to this in the following verses, quoted by
Aristotle (Metaph. iii 5) ' —

'Hs yao sxatrros tyii xgaff/v fisXsuv iroXwafinrw
Tug vooi uvdzavoifft tragi sryxev to yu% ccvto
2<rr/v, 6n-g£ proves/, (MeXew pvoig cuiQpukoigi
Kou nam xa/ *anT ro yctg *Xeov ion voqf&a.

(Ut enim cuique complexio membrorum flexibilium se
habet, ita mens hominibus adest : idem namque est, quod
sapit/membrorum natura hominibus, et omnibus et omni:
quod enim plus est, intelligentia est.) 1

S 2 1 . Whoever has now gained from all these expositions
a knowledge in ahtracto, and therefore clear and certain,
of what every one knows directly in concreto, i.e., as feeling,
a knowledge that frfe-will jg thfi ,TPfl,1, inTier nature of hk.
phenonae^allieilig, whichjnanifests itself to him_asjdea,
bothlnhisTctions and in their permanent substratum,
his body, and that his will is that which is most un- .
mediate in his consciousness, though it has not as such
completely passed into the form of idea in which object
and subject stand over against each other, but makes

1 Cf. Ch. xx. <f the Supplement, Physiology and Comparative Ana-
und also in my work, « Ueler dm tomy, where the subject I have only
WUUnTv Z 7aturr the chapters on touched upon here ui fully discussed.

J42 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. il

itself known to him in a direct manner, in which he does
not quite clearly distinguish subject and object^ yet ia
not known as a whole to the individual himself, but oidy
in its particular acts, — whoever, I say, has with me
gained this conviction will find that of itself it affords
him the key to the knowledge of the inmost being of the
whole of nature ; for he now transfers it to all those
phenomena which are not given to him, like his own
phenomenal existence, both in direct and indirect
knowledge, but only in the latter, thus merely one-
sidedly as idea alone. He will recognise this will of

• which we are speaking not only in those phenome-
nal existences which exactly resemble his own, in men
and animals as their inmost nature, but the course of
reflection will lead him to recognise the force which

+ germinates and vegetates in the plant, and indeed the
force through which the crystal is formed, that by which
the magnet turns to the north pole, the force whose
shock he experiences from the contact of two different
kinds of metals, the force which appears in the elective
affinities of matter as repulsion and attraction, decom-
position and combination, and, lastly, even gravitation,
which acts so powerfully throughout matter, draws the
stone to the earth and the earth to the sun, — all these, I
say, he will recognise as different only in their pheno-

• menal existence, but in their inner nature as identical,
as that which is directly known to him so inti-
mately and so much better than anything else, and
which in its most distinct manifestation is called will.

I It is this application of reflection alone that prevents us
from remaining any longer at the phenomenon, and leads us
to the t?Ung in itself. Phenomenal existence is idea and
nothing more. All idea, of whatever kind it may be, all
object, is phenomenal existence, but the will alone is a.

• thdn^LWi^ifi j As such, it is throughout not idea, but
toto genere dirterent from it ; it is that of which all idea,
all object, is the phenomenal appearance, the visibility,

THE OBJECTlFICATION OF THE WILL. 149

the objectification. It is the inmost nature, the kernel,
of every particular thing, and also of the whole. It
appears in every blind force of nature and also in the I
preconsidered action of man ; and the great difference
between these two is merely in the degree of the mani-
festation, not in the nature of what manifests itself.

§ 22. Sow, if we are to think as an objectrthis things
in-itself (we wish to retain the Kantian expression as a
standing formula), which, as such, isjiever object, because
all object is its mere manifestation, and therefore cannot
be it itself, jwe must borrow for it the name and concept
of an object, of something in some way objectively given,
consequently of one of its own manifestations. But in
order to serve as a clue for the understanding, this can be
no other than the most complete of all its manifestations,
i.e., the most distinct, the most developed, and directly
enlightened by knowledge. Now this is the human will.
It is, however, well to observe that here, at any rate, we
only make use of a denominatio a potiori, through which,
therefore, the concept of will receives a greater exten-
sion than it has hitherto had. Knowledge of Jhe.Jdfin-j
tdgaj ir» ^ifflarPTif pT^nr^^p and of (jiffpTP.nce in similai.,
phenomena, is, as Plato so often remarks, a sine qua non
of pMlosojihy. But hitherto it was not recognised that
, every kind of active and operating force in nature is
essentially identicaFwith will, and therefore the multi-
farious kinds of phenomena were not seen to be merely
different species of the same genus, but were treated as
heterogeneous. Consequently there could be no word to
denote the concept of this genus. 1 therefore name the
genus after its most important species, the direct know-
ledge of which lies nearer to us and guides us to the in-
direct knowledge of all other species. But whoever is
incapable of carrying out the required extension of the
concept will remain involved in a permanent misunder-
standing. For by the word will he understands only
that species of it which has hitherto been exclusively

144 THE WORLD AS WILL. BK. II.

\ denoted by it, the will which is guided by knowledge,
and whose manifestation follows only upon motives, and
indeed merely abstract motives, and thus takes place under
the guidance of the reason. This, we have said, is only

* the most prominent example of the manifestation of wilL
We must now distinctly separate in thought the inmost

1 essence of this manifestation which is known to us
directly, and then transfer it to all the weaker, less dis-
tinct manifestations of the same nature, and thus we
o shall accomplish the desired extension of the concept of
will. From another point of view I should be equally
misunderstood by any one who should think that it is
all the same in the end whether we denote this inner
nature of all phenomena by the word will or by any
other. This would be the case if the thing-in-itself were
something whose existence we merely inferred, and thus
knew indirectly and only in the abstract. Then, indeed,
we might call it what we pleased ; the name would stand
merely as the symbol of an unknown quantity. But the
word will, which, like a magic spell, discloses to us the
inmost being of everything in nature, is by no means an
unknown quantity, something arrived at only by infer-
ence, but is fully and immediately comprehended, and is
so familiar to us that we know and understand what will

* is far better than anything else whatever. The concept
of will has hitherto commonly been subordinated to that
of force, but I reverse the matter entirely, and desire that

, every force in nature should be thought as will. It must
not be supposed that this is mere verbal quibbling or of
no consequence ; rather, it is of the greatest significance

* and importance. For at the foundation of the concept
1 of force, as of all other concepts, there ultimately lies

the knowledge in sense-perception of the objective world,
that is to say, the phenomenon, the idea ; and the con-
cept is constructed out of this. It is an abstraction from
the province in which cause and effect reign, i.e.} from
ideas of perception, and means just the causal nature of

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. i45

> causes ,at the point at which this causal nature is no
further etiologically explicable, but is the necessary pre-
supposition of all etiological explanation. '/The concept
will, on the other hand, is of all possible concepts the
only one which has its source not in the phenomenal, not in
the mere idea of perception, but comes from within, and
proceeds from the most immediate consciousness of each
of us, in which" eaclTbf us i knows his own individuality,
according to its nature, immediately, apart from all form]
SSSL^f!* of subJect and object, and which at the same
^time is tliis individuality, for here the subject and the
object of knowledge are one. If, therefore, we refer
the concept of force to that of will, we have in fact
referred the less known to what is infinitely better
known ; indeed, to the one thing that is really immediately
and fully known to us, and have very greatly extended
our knowledge. If, on the contrary, we subsume the
concept of will under that of force, as has hitherto
always been done, we renounce the only immediate
knowledge which we have of the inner nature of the
world, for we allow it to disappear in a concept which is
abstracted from the phenomenal, and with which we can
therefore never go beyond the phenomenal.

§ 23. The will as a thing in itself is quite different from
its phenomenal appearance, and entirely free from all the
forms of the phenomenal, into which it first passes when
it manifests itself, and which therefore only concern its
objectivity, and are foreign to the will itself. Even the V
most universal form of aU idea, that of being object for a
subject, does not concern it; still less the, forms which
are subordinate to this and which collectively have their
common expression in the principle of sufficient reason,
to which we know that time and space belong, and con-
sequently multiplicity also, which exists and is possible
only through these. In this last regard I shall caU time 1
and space the principium individuations, borrowing an
expression from the old schoolmen, and I beg to draw

vol. 1.

,46 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. ii.

attention to this, once for all. For it is only through
the medium of time and space that what is one and the
same, both according to its nature and to its concept, yet
appears as different, as a multiplicity of co-existent and
successive phenomena. Thus time and space are the
principium individuationis, the subject of so many subtle-
ties and disputes among the schoolmen, which may be

r found collected in Suarez (Disp. 5, Sect. 3). According
to what has been said, the will as a thing-in-itself lies
outside the province of the principle of sufficient reason
in all its forms, and is consequently completely ground-

r less, although all its manifestations are entirely subordi-
nated to the principle of sufficient reason, JTurther, it is
free from all multiplicity, although its manifestations in

; time and space are innumerable. It is itself one, though
not in the sense in which an object is one, for the unity
of an object can only be known in opposition to a possible
multiplicity ; nor yet in the sense in which a concept is
one, for the unity of a concept originates only in abstrac-
tion from a multiplicity ; but it is one as that which lies
outside time and space, the principium individuationis,
ie., the possibility of multiplicity. Only when all this
has became quite clear to us through the subsequent
examination of the phenomena and different manifesta-
tions of the will, shall we fully understand the meaning
of the Kantian doctrine that time, space and causality do
not belong to the thing-in-itself, but are only forms of
knowing.

t The uncaused nature of will has been actually recog-
nised, where it manifests itself most distinctly, as the
will of man, and this has been called free, independent.
But on account of the uncaused nature of the will itself,
the necessity to which its manifestation is everywhere
subjected has been overlooked, and actions are treated as
free, which they are not. For every individual action
follows with strict necessity from the effect of the motive
upon the character. All necessity is, as we have already

THE ODJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. 147

said, the relation of the consequent to the reason, and
nothing more. The principle of sufficient reason is the^
universal form of all phenomena, and man in his action (
must be subordinated to it like every other phenomenon. ]
But because in self- consciousness the will is known!
directly and in itself, in this consciousness lies also the/
consciousness of freedom. The fact is, however, over-
looked that the individual, the person, is not will as a
thing-in- itself, but is a phenomenon of will, is already
determined as such, and has come under the form of the
phenomenal, the principle of sufficient reason. Hence
arises the strange fact that every one believes himself a
priori to be perfectly free, even in his individual actions,
and thinks that at every moment he can commence
another manner of life, which just means that he can
become another person. But a posteriori, through ex-
perience, he finds to his astonishment that he is not free,
but subjected to necessity; that in spite of all his
resolutions and reflections he does not change his conduct,
and that from the beginning of his life to the end of it,
he must carry out the very character which he himself
condemns, and as it were play the part he has under-
taken to the end. I cannot pursue this subject further
at present, for it belongs, as ethical, to another part of
this work. In the meantime, I only wish to point out
here that the 'phenomenon of the will which in itself is
uncaused, is yet as such subordinated to the law of
necessity, that is, the principle of sufficient reason, so
that in the necessity with which the phenomena of
nature follow each other, we may find nothing to hinder
us from recognising in them the manifestations of will.

Only those changes which have no other ground than
a motive, i.e.} an idea, have hitherto been regarded
as manifestations of will. Therefore in nature a will
has cnly been attributed to man, or at the most to
animals ; for knowledge, the idea, is of course, as I have
said elsewhere, the true and exclusive characteristic of

,4g THE WORLD AS WILL. BK. II.

animal life. But that the will is also active whore no
knowledge guides it, we see at once in the instinct and
9 the mechanical skill of animals.1 That they have ideas
and knowledge is here not to the point, for the end
towards which they strive as definitely as if it were a
known motive, is yet entirely unknown to them. There-
fore in such cases their action takes place without
motive, is not guided hy the idea, and shows us first and
most distinctly how the will may be active entirely
• without knowledge. The bird of a year old has no idea
of the eggs for which it builds a nest ; the young spider
has no idea of the prey for which it spins a web ; nor
has the ant-lion any idea of the ants for which he digs a
trench for the first time. The larva of the stag-beetle
makes the hole in the wood, in which it is to await its
metamorphosis, twice as big if it is going to be a male
beetle as if it is going to be a female, so that if it is a
male there may be room for the horns, of which, however,
it has no idea. In such actions of these creatures the
will is clearly operative as in their other actions, but it
is in blind activity, which is indeed accompanied by
knowledge but not guided by it. If now we have once
gained insight into the fact, that idea as motive is not a
necessary and essential condition of the activity of the
will, we shall more easily recognise the activity of will
where it is less apparent For example, we shall see
that the house of the snail is no more made by a will
which is foreign to the snail itself, than the house which
we build is produced through another will than our own ;
but we shall recognise in both houses the work of a will
which objectifies itself in both the phenomena— a will
which works in us according to motives, but in the snail
still blindly as formative impulse directed outwards^ In
us also the same will is in many ways only blindly
active: in all the functions of our body which are not
guided by knowledge, in all its vital and vegetative pro-

i This is Bpecially treated in the 27th Ch. of the Supplement.

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. 149

cesses, digestion, circulation, secretion, growth, repro-
duction. Not only the actions of the body, but the
whole body itself is, as we have shown above, phenome-
non of the will, objectified will, concrete will. All that
goes on in it must therefore proceed through will,
although here this will is not guided by knowledge, but
acts blindly according to causes, which in this case are
called stimuli.

I call a cause, in the narrowest sense of the word,
that state of matter, which, while it introduces another
state with necessity, yet suffers just as great a change
itself as that which it causes ; which is expressed in the
rule, " action and reaction are equal." Further, in the
case of what is properly speaking a cause, the effect
increases directly in proportion to the cause, and there-
fore also the reaction. So that, if once the mode of
operation be known, the degree of the effect may be
measured and calculated from the degree of the intensity
of the cause ; and conversely the degree of the intensity
of the cause may be calculated from the degree of the
effect. Such causes, properly so called, operate in all
the phenomena of mechanics, chemistry, and so forth ;
in short, in all the changes of unorganised bodies. On
the other hand, I call a stimulus, such a cause as sustains
no reaction proportional to its effect, and the intensity
of which does not vary directly in proportion to the
intensity of its effect, so that the effect cannot be
measured by it. On the contrary, a small increase of
the stimulus may cause a very great increase of the
effect, or conversely, it may eliminate the previous effect
altogether, and so forth. All effects upon organised
bodies as such are of this kind. All properly organic
and vegetative changes of the animal body must there-
fore be referred to stimuli, not to mere causes. But the
stimulus, like every cause and motive generally, never
determines more than the point of time and space at

,5o THE WORLD AS WILL. BK. IL

which the manifestation of every force is to take place,
and does not determine the inner nature of the force
itself which is manifested. This inner nature we know,
from our previous investigation, is will, to which there-
lore we ascribe both the unconscious and the conscious
changes of the body. The stimulus holds the mean,
forms the transition between the motive, which is
causality accompanied throughout by knowledge, and the
cause in the narrowest sense. In particular cases it is
sometimes nearer a motive, sometimes nearer a cause, but
yet it can always be distinguished from both. Thus, for
example, the rising of the sap in a plant follows upon
stimuli, and cannot be explained from mere causes,
according to the laws of hydraulics or capillary attrac-
tion ; yet it is certainly assisted by these, and altogether
approaches very near to a purely causal change. On the
other hand, the movements of the JTedysarum gyrans and
the Mimosa pudica, although still following upon mere
stimuli, are yet very like movements which follow upon
motives, and seem almost to wish to make the transition.
The contraction of the pupils of the eyes as the light is
increased is due to stimuli, but it passes into movement
which is due to motive ; for it takes place, because too
strong lights would affect the retina painfully, and to
avoid this we contract the pupils. The occasion of an
erection is a motive, because it is an idea, yet it operates
with the necessity of a stimulus, i.e., it cannot be re-
sisted, but we must put the idea away in order to make
it cease to affect us. This is also the case with disgust-
ing things, which excite the desire to vomit. Thus
we have treated the instinct of animals as an actual
link, of quite a distinct kind, between movement follow-
ing upon stimuli, and action following upon a known
motive. Now we might be asked to regard breathing as
another link of this kind. It has been disputed whether
it belongs to the voluntary or the involuntary movements,
9 that is to say, whether it follows upon motive or stimu'

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. 151

lus, and perhaps it may be explained as something which
is between the two. Marshall Hall (" On the Diseases
of the Nervous System," § 293 sq.) explains it as a mixed
function, for it is partly under the influence of the cerebral
(voluntary), and partly under that of the spinal (non-vol-
untary) nerves. However, we are finally obliged to number
it with the expressions of will which result from motives.
For other motives, i.e., mere ideas, can determine the will
to check it or accelerate it, and, as is the case with every
other voluntary action, it seems to us that we could give
up breathing altogether and voluntarily suffocate. And
in fact we could do so if any other motive influenced the
will sufficiently strongly to overcome the pressing desire
for air. According to some accounts Diogenes actually
put an end to his life in this way (Diog. Laert. VI. 76).
Certain negroes also are said to have done this (F. B.
Osiander " On Suicide " [18 13] pp. 170-180). If this
be true, it affords us a good example of the influence
of abstract motives, i.e., of the victory of distinctively
. rational over merely animal will. For, that breath-
ing is at least partially conditioned by cerebral activity
is shown by the fact that the primary cause of death
from prussic acid is that it paralyses the brain, and so,
indirectly, restricts the breathing; but if the breathing
be artificially maintained till the stupefaction of the
brain has passed away, death will not ensue. We may
/ affco observe in passing that breathing affords us the most
j obvious example of the fact that motives act with just as
\ much necessity as stimuli, or as causes in the narrowest
sense of the word, and their operation can only be
neutralised by antagonistic motives, as action is neutralised
by re-action. For, in the case of breathing, the illusion
that we can stop when we like is much weaker than
in the case of other movements which follow upon
motives ; because in breathing the motive is very power-
ful, very near to us, and its satisfaction is very easy, for
the muscles which accomplish it are never tired, nothing,

152 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. ii.

as a rule, obstructs it, and the whole process is supported
by the most inveterate habit of the individual. And yet
all motives act with the same necessity. The knowledge
that necessity is common to movements following upon
motives, and those following upon stimuli, makes it easier
for us to understand that that also which takes place in
our bodily organism in accordance with stimuli and in
obedience to law, is yet, according to its inner nature —
will, which in all its manifestations, though never in
itself, is subordinated to the principle of sufficient reason,
that is, to necessity.1 Accordingly, we shall not rest
contented with recognising "that animals, both in their
actions and also in their whole existence, bodily struc-
ture and organisation, are manifestations of will ; but we

• shall extend to plants also this immediate knowledge
of the essential nature of things which is given to us
alone. Now all the movements of plants follow upon

% stimuli; for the absence of knowledge, and the move-
ment following upon motives which is conditioned by
knowledge, constitutes the only essential difference be-
tween animals and plants. Therefore, what appears for
the idea as plant life, as mere vegetation, as blindly im-
pelling force, we shall claim, according to its inner nature,
for will, and recognise it as just that which constitutes
the basis of our own phenomenal being, as it expresses
itself in our actions, and also in the whole existence
of our body itself.

It only remains for us to take the final step, the ex-
tension of our way of looking at things to all those forces
which act in nature in accordance with universal, un-
changeable laws, in conformity with which the movements
of all those bodies take place, which are wholly without
organs, and have therefore no susceptibility for stimuli,
and have no knowledge, which is the necessary condition

1 This subject is fully worked out in the "Grundprobleme der Ethik") th«
my prize essay on the freedom of the relation of cause, stimulus, and mo*
will, in which therefore (pp. 29-44 °f '"* has also been fully explained.

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. 153

of motives. Thus we must also apply the key to the
understanding of the inner nature of things, which the
immediate knowledge of our own existence alone can
give us, to those phenomena of the unorganised world
which are most remote from^m And if we consider
them attentively, if we observe the strong and unceasing
impulse with which the waters hurry to the ocean, the
persistency with which the magnet turns ever to the
north pole, the readiness with which iron flies to the
magnet, the eagerness with which the electric poles seek
to be re-united, and which, just like human desire, is
increased by obstacles ; if we see the crystal quickly and
suddenly take form with such wonderful regularity of
construction, which is clearly only a perfectly definite
and accurately determined impulse in different directions,
seized and retained by crystallisation ; if we observe the
choice with which bodies repel and attract each other,
combine and separate, when they are set free in a fluid
state, and emancipated from the bonds of rigidness;
lastly, if we feel directly how a burden which hampers
our body by its gravitation towards the earth, unceas-
ingly presses and strains upon it in pursuit of its one
tendency ; if we observe all this, I say, it will require no
great effort of the imagination to recognise, even at so
great a distance, our own nature. That which in us pur-
sues its ends by the light of knowledge ; but here, in
the weakest of its manifestations, only strives blindly
and dumbly in a one-sided and unchangeable manner,
must yet in both cases come under the name of will, as
it is everywhere one and the same — just as the first dim
light of dawn must share the name of sunlight with the
rays of the full mid- day. JJor_the name will denotes
that which is the inner nature of everything in the world,
and the one kernel of every phenomenon.

Yet the remoteness, and indeed the appearance of]
absolute difference between the phenomena of unor-
ganised nature and the will which we know as the \

154 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. a

inner reality of our own being, arises chiefly from the
contrast between the completely determined conformity
to law of the one species of phenomena, and the ap-
parently unfettered freedom of the other. For in man,
individuality makes itself powerfully felt. Every one
has a character of his own; and therefore the same
motive has not the same influence over all, and a
thousand circumstances which exist in the wide sphere
of the knowledge of the individual, but are unknown to
others, modify its effect. Therefore action cannot be pre-
determined from the motive alone, for the other factor is
wanting, the accurate acquaintance with the individual
character, and with the knowledge which accompanies it
On the other hand, the phenomena of the forces of
nature illustrate the opposite extreme. They act accord-
ing to universal laws, without variation, without indivi-
duality in accordance with openly manifest circumstances,
subject to the most exact predetermination ; and the same
force of nature appears in its million phenomena in
precisely the same way. In order to explain this point
and prove the identity of the one indivisible will in
all its different phenomena, in the weakest as in the
strongest, we must first of all consider the relation of
* the will as thing-in-itself to its phenomena, that is, the
relation of the world as will to the world as idea; for
this will open to us the best way to a more thorough
investigation of the whole subject we are considering in
this second book.1

§ 24. We have learnt from the great Kant that time,
space, and causality, with their entire constitution, and
the possibility of all their forms, are present in our
consciousness quite independently of the objects which
appear in them, and which constitute their content ; or,
in other words, they can be arrived at just as well if we

J Cf. Ch. xxiii. of the Supplement, on physical astronomy, which is of

and ako the Ch. on the physiology great importance with regard to the

of plants in my work "Ueber den kernel of my metaphysic.
Willen in der Natur," and the Ch.

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. 155

start from the subject as if we start from the object. There-
fore, with equal accuracy, we may call them either forms of

1 intuition or perception of the subject, or qualities of the
object as object (with Kant, phenomenon), ie., idea. We
may also regard these forms as the irreducible boundary
between object and subject. All objects must therefore
exist in them, yet the subject, independently of the
phenomenal object, possesses and surveys them com-
pletely. But if the objects appearing in these forms
are not to be empty phantoms, but are to have a mean-
ing, they must refer to something, must be the expression
of something which is not, like themselves, object, idea, a
merely relative existence for a subject, but which exists
without such dependence upon something which stands
over against it as a condition of its being, and inde-
pendent of the forms of such a thing, i.e., is not idea, but
a thing-in-itself. Consequently it may at least be asked :
Are these ideas, these objects, something more than or
apart from the fact that they are ideas, objects of the
subject ? And what would they be in this sense ? What
is that other side of them which is toto genere different
from idea? What is the thing-in-itself? The will, we
have answered, but for the present I set that answer
aside.

Whatever the thing-in-itself may be, Kant is right in
his conclusion that time, space, and causality (which we
afterwards found to be forms of the principle of sufficient

I reason, the general expression of the forms of the pheno-
menon) are not its properties, but come to it only after,
and so far as, it has become idea. That is, they belong

t only to its phenomenal existence, not to itself. For since
the subject fully understands and constructs them out of
itself, independently of all object, they must be dependent
upon existence as idea as such, not upon that which becomes
idea. They must be the form of the idea as such ; but
*not qualities of that which has assumed this form. They
must be already given with the mere antithesis of subject

1 56 THE WORLD AS WILL. uk. a

and object (not as concepts but as facts), and consequently
they must be only the more exact determination of the
form of knowledge in general, whose most universal de-
termination is that antithesis itself. Now, that in the
phenomenon, in the object, which is in its turn con-
ditioned by time, space and causality, inasmuch as it
can only become idea by means of them, namely multi-
plicity, through co-existence and succession, cliange and
permanence through the law of causality, matter which
can only become idea under the presupposition of caus-
ality, and lastly, all that becomes idea only by means
of these, — all this, I say, as a whole, does not in reality be-
long to that which appears, to that which has passed into
the form of idea, but belongs merely to this form itself.
And conversely, that in the phenomenon which is not
conditioned through time, space and causality, and which
cannot be referred to them, nor explained in accordance
with them, is precisely that in which the thing mani-
fested, the thing-in-itself, directly reveals itself. It follows
from this that the most complete capacity for being known,
that is to say, the greatest clearness, distinctness, and sus-
ceptibility of exhaustive explanation, will necessarily belong
to that which pertains to knowledge as such, and thus to
the form of knowledge; but not to that which in itself is
not idea, not object, but which has become knowledge
only through entering these forms ; in other words, has
become idea, object. Thus only that which depends en-
tirely upon being an object of knowledge, upon existing
as idea in general and as such (not upon that which
becomes known, and has only become idea), which
therefore belongs without distinction to everything that
is known, and which, on that account, is found just as
well if we start from the subject as if we start from the
object, — this alone can afford us without reserve a suffi-
cient, exhaustive knowledge, a knowledge which is clear
to the very foundation. But this consists of nothing but
those forms of all phenomena of which we are conscious

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. 157

a priori, and which may he generally expressed as the
principle of sufficient reason. Now, the forms of this prin-
ciple which occur in knowledge of perception (with which
alone we are here concerned) are time, space, and casuality.
The whole of pure mathematics and pure natural science
a priori is based entirely upon these. Therefore it is
only in these sciences that knowledge finds no obscurity,
^loes not rest upon what is incomprehensible (groundless,
i.e., will), upon what cannot be further deduced. It is on
this account that Kant wanted, as we have said, to apply
the name science specially and even exclusively to these
branches of knowledge together with logic. But, on
the other hand, these branches of knowledge show us
nothing more than mere connections, relations of one
idea to another, form devoid of all content. All content
which they receive, every phenomenon which fills these
forms, contains something which is no longer completely
knowable in its whole nature, something which can no
longer be entirely explained through something else,
something then which is groundless, through which
consequently the knowledge loses its evidence and
ceases to be completely lucid. This that withholds j/
itself from investigation, however, is the thing-in-itself,
is that which is essentially not idea, not object of know-
ledge, but has only become knowable by entering that ^ v
form. The form is originally foreign to it, and the thing-
in-itself can never become entirely one with it, can never
be referred to mere form, and, since this form is the
principle of sufficient reason, can never be completely
explained. If therefore all mathematics affords us an
exhaustive knowledge of that which in the phenomena
is quantity, position, number, in a word, spatial and
temporal relations; if all etiology gives us a complete
account of the regular conditions under which pheno-
mena, with all their determinations, appear in time and
space, but, with it all, teaches us nothing more than why
in each case this particular phenomenon must appear

158 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. ii.

just at this time here, and at this place now ; it is clear
that with their assistance we can never penetrate to the
inner nature of things. There always remains something
which no explanation can venture to attack, but which
it always presupposes ; the forces of nature, the definite
mode of operation of things, the quality and character of
every phenomenon, that which is without ground, that
which does not depend upon the form of the phenomenal,
the principle of sufficient reason, but is something to which
this form in itself is foreign, something which has yet

/entered this form, and now appears according to its law,
a law, however, which only determines the appearance,
not that which appears, only the how, not the what,
only the form, not the content. Mechanics, physics, and
chemistry teach the rules and laws according to which
the forces of impenetrability, gravitation, rigidity, fluidity,
cohesion, elasticity, heat, light, affinity, magnetism, elec-
tricity, &c, operate ; that is to say, the law, the rule
which these forces observe whenever they enter time and
space. But do what we will, the forces themselves
remain qualitates occulta. For it is just the thin^-in-
itself, which, because it is manifested, exhibits these
phenomena, which are entirely different from itself. In
its manifestation, indeed, it is completely subordinated
to the principle of sufficient reason as the form of the
idea, but it can never itself be referred to this form, and
therefore cannot be fully explained etiolbgically, can
never be completely fathomed. It is certainly perfectly
comprehensible so far as it has assumed that form, that
is, so far as it is phenomenon, but its inner nature is not
in the least explained by the fact that it can thus be
comprehended. Therefore the more necessity any
knowledge carries with it, the more there is in it of that a
which cannot be otherwise thought or presented in per- \)
ception — as, for example, space-relations — the clearer \J
and more sufficing then it is, the less pure objective
content it has, or the less reality, properly so called, is

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL, 159

given in it. And conversely, the more there is in it
which must be conceived as mere chance, and the more
it impresses us as given merely empirically, the more
proper objectivity and true reality is there in such
knowledge, and at the same time, the more that is inex-
plicable, that is, that cannot be deduced from anything
else.

It is true that at all times an etiology, unmindful of
its real aim, has striven to reduce all organised life to
chemism or electricity; all chemism, that is to say
quality, again to mechanism (action determined by the
shape of the atom), this again sometimes to the object
of phoronomy, i.e., the combination of time and space,
which makes motion possible, sometimes to the object of
mere geometry, i.e., position in space (much in the same
way as we rightly deduce the diminution of an effect
from the square of the distance, and the theory of the lever
in a purely geometrical manner) : geometry may finally
be reduced to arithmetic, which, on account of its one
dimension, is of all the forms of the principle of sufficient
reason, the most intelligible, comprehensible, and com-
pletely susceptible of investigation. As instances of the
method generally indicated here, we may refer to the
atoms of Democritus, the vortex of Descartes, the
mechanical physics of Lesage, which towards the end of
last century tried to explain both chemical affinities and
gravitation mechanically by impact and pressure, as may
be seen in detail in " Lucrece Neutonien ;" Eeil's form
and combination as the cause of animal life, also tends
in this direction. Finally, the crude materialism which
even now in the middle of the nineteenth century has
been served up again under the ignorant delusion that it
is original, belongs distinctly to this class. It stupidly
denies vital force, and first of all tries to explain the
phenomena of life from physical and chemical forces, and
those again from the mechanical effects of the matter,
position, form, aDd motion of imagined atoms, and thus

i&> THE WORLD AS WILL. bk ii.

seeks to reduce all the forces of nature to action and re-
action as its thing-in-itself. According to this teaching,
light is the mechanical vibration or undulation of an imagi-
nary ether, postulated for this end. This ether, if it reaches
the eye, beats rapidly upon the retina, and gives us the
knowledge of colour. Thus, for example, four hundred
and eighty-three billion beats in a second give red, and
seven hundred and twenty-seven billion beats in a second
give violet. Upon this theory, persons who are colour-
blind must be those who are unable to count the beats,
must they not? Such crass, mechanical, clumsy, and
certainly knotty theories, which remind one of Deraocritus,
are quite worthy of those who, fifty years after the appear-
ance of Goethe's doctrine of colour, still believe in New-
ton's homogeneous light, and are not ashamed to say so.
They will find that what is overlooked in the child
(Democritus) will not be forgiven to the man. They
might indeed, some day, come to an ignominious end ;
but then every one would slink away and pretend that
he never had anything to do with them. We shall soon
have to speak again of this false reduction of the forces
of nature to each other ; so much for the present. Sup-
posing this theory were possible, all would certainly
be explained and established and finally reduced to an
arithmetical problem, which would then be the holiest
thing in the temple of wisdom, to which the principle of
sufficient reason would at last have happily conducted
us. But all content of the phenomenon would have dis-
appeared, and the mere form would remain. The "what
appears " would be referred to the " how it appears," and
this " how " would be what is a prim knowable, there-
fore entirely dependent on the subject, therefore only for
the subject, therefore, lastly, mere phantom, idea and
form of idea, through and through: no thing-in-itself
could be demanded. Supposing, then, that this were
possible, the whole world would be derived from the
subject, and. in fact, that would be accomplished which

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. 161

Fiehte wanted to seem to accomplish by his empty
bombast. But it is not possible : phantasies, sophisms,
castles in the air, have been constructed in this way, but
science never. The many and multifarious phenomena
in nature have been successfully referred to particular
original forces, and as often as this has been done, a real
advance has been made. Several forces and qualities,
which were at first regarded as different, have been
derived from each other, and thus their number has been
curtailed. (For example, magnetism from electricity.)
Etiology will have reached its goal when it has recog-
nised and exhibited as such all the original forces of
nature, and established their mode of operation, i.e., the
law according to which, under the guidance of causality,
their phenomena appear in time and space, and determine
their position with regard to each other. But certain origi-
nal forces will always remain over; there will always remain
as an insoluble residuum a content of phenomena which
cannot be referred to their form, and thus cannot be ex-
plained from something else in accordance with the principle
of sufficient reason. For in everything in nature there is
something of which no ground can ever be assigned, of
which no explanation is possible, and no ulterior cause
is to be sought. This is the specific nature of its action,
i.e., the nature of its existence, its being. Of each par-
ticular effect of the thing a cause may be certainly
indicated, from which it follows that it must act just
at this time and in this place; but no cause can
ever be found from which it follows that a thing acts in
general, and precisely in the way it does. If it has no
other qualities, if it is merely a mote in a sunbeam, it yet
exhibits this unfathomable something, at least as weight
and impenetrability. But this, I say, is to the mote what
his will is to a man ; and, like the human will, it is, ac-
cording to its inner nature, not subject to explanation;
nay, more — it is in itself identical with this will. It is
true that a motive may be given for every manifestation
vol. I. L

162 THE WORLD AS WILL. BK. II.

of will, for every act of will at a particular time and in
a particular place, upon which it must necessarily follow,
under the presupposition of the character of the man.
But no reason can ever he given that the man has this
character ; that he wills at all ; that, of several motives,
just this one and no other, or indeed that any motive at
all, moves his will. That which in the case of man is
the unfathomable character which is presupposed in every
explanation of his actions from motives is, in the case of
every unorganised body, its definitive quality — the mode of
its action, the manifestations of which are occasioned by
impressions from without, while it itself, on the contrary,
is determined by nothing outside itself, and thus is also
inexplicable. Its particular manifestations, through which
alone it becomes visible, are subordinated to the principle
of sufficient reason ; it itself is groundless. This was in
substance rightly understood by the schoolmen, who called
it forma substantialis. (Cf. Suarez, Disput Metaph., disp.
xv. sect. I.)

It is a greater and a commoner error that the pheno-
mena which we best understand are those which are of
most frequent occurrence, and which are most universal
and simple ; for, on the contrary, these are just the phe-
nomena that we are most accustomed to see about us,
and to be ignorant of. It is just as inexplicable to us
that a stone should fall to the earth as that an animal
should move itself. It has been supposed, as we have
remarked above, that, starting from the most universal

\ forces of nature (gravitation, cohesion, impenetrability), it
j was possible to explain from them the rarer forces, which

/ only operate under a combination of circumstances (for
example, chemical quality, electricity, magnetism), and,
lastly, from these to understand the organism and the life
of animals, and even the nature of human knowing and
willing. Men resigned themselves without a word to
starting from mere qvalitates occulta, the elucidation of
which was entirely given up, for they intended to build

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. 163

upon them, not to investigate them. Such an intention
cannot, as we have already said, be carried out. But
apart from this, such structures would always stand in
the air. What is the use of explanations which ultimately
refer us to something which is quite as unknown as the
problem with which we started? Do we in the end
understand more of the inner nature of these universal
natural forces than of the inner nature of an animal?
Is not the one as much a sealed book to us as the other ?
Unfathomable because it is without ground, because it is
the content, that which the phenomenon is, and which
can never be referred to the form, to the how, to the
principle of sufficient reason. Bat we, who have in view
not etiology but philosophy, that is, not relative but un-
conditioned knowledge of the real nature of the world,
take the opposite course, and start from that which is
immediately and most completely known to us, and fully
and entirely trusted by us — that which lies nearest to us,
in order to understand that which is known to us only
at a distance, one-sidedly and indirectly. Prom the most
powerful, most significant, and most distinct phenomenon
we seek to arrive at an understanding of those that are
less complete and weaker. With the exception of my
own body, all things are known to me only on one side,
that of the idea. Their inner nature remains hidden
from me and a profound secret, even if I know all the
• causes from which their changes follow. Onlv by com-
parison with that which goes on in me if my body per-
forms an action when I am influenced by a motive only

/by comparison, I say, with what is the inner nature of
my own changes determined by external reasons, can I
obtain insight into the way in which these lifeless bodies
change under the influence of causes, and so understand
what is their inner nature. For the knowledge of the
causes of the manifestation of this inner nature affords
me merely the rule of its appearance in time and space,
and nothing more. I can make this comparison because

l64 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk.il

my body is the only object of which I know not merely
the one side, that of the idea, but also the other side
/ which is called will. Thus, instead of believing that T
would better understand my own organisation, and then
my own knowing and willing, and my movements follow-
ing upon motives, if I could only refer them to movements
due to electrical, chemical, and mechanical causes, I must,
seeing that I eeek philosophy and not etiology, learn to
understand from my own movements following upon
motives the inner nature of the simplest and commonest
movements of an unorganised body which I see following
upon causes. I must recognise the inscrutable forces y
which manifest themselves in all natural bodies as identi-
cal in kind with that which in me is the will, and as
differing from it only in degree. That is to say, the fourth
class of°ideas given in the Essay on the Principle of Suffi-
cient Reason must be the key to the knowledge of the
inner nature of the first class, and by means of the law
of motivation I must come to understand the inner mean-
ing of the law of causation.

Spinoza (Epist. 62) says that if a stone which has
been projected through the air had consciousness, it would
believe that it was moving of its own will. I add to this
/only that the stone would be right. The impulse given
it is for the stone what the motive is for me, and what
in the case of the stone appears as cohesion, gravitation,
rigidity, is in its inner nature the same as that which I
recognise in myself as will, and what the stone also, if
knowledge were given to it, would recognise as will. In
the passage referred to, Spinoza had in view the necessity
with which the stone flies, and he rightly desires to
transfer this necessity to that of the particular act of will
of a person. I, on the other hand, consider the inner
being, which alone imparts meaning and validity to all
real ^necessity (i.e., effect following upon a cause) as its
presupposition. In the case of men this is called char-
acter; in the case of a stone it is called quality, but it is ^

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. 165

the same in both. When it is immediately known it*
is, called will. In the stone it has the weakest, and in
•man the strongest degree of visibility, of objectivity. St.
Augustine recognises, with a true instinct, this identity
of the tendencies of all things with our own willing, and
I cannot refrain from quoting his naive account of the
matter : — " Si pecora essemus, carnalem vitam et quod se-
cundum sensum ejusdem est amaremus, idque esset sufficient
bonum nostrum, et secundum hoc si esset nobis bene, nihil
aliud qucereremus. Item, si ar bores essemus, nihil quidem
sentientes motu amare possemus : verumtamen id quasi ap-
petere videremur, quo feracius essemus, uberiusque fructuosce.
Si essemus lapides, aut fluctus, ant ventus, aut flamma, vel
quid ejusmodi, sine ullo quidem sensu atque vita, nou tamen
nobis deesset quasi quidam nostrorum locorum atque ordinis
appetitus. Nam velut amores corporum momenta sunt pon-
derum, sive deorsum gravitate, sive sursum levitate nitantur :
ita enim corpus pondere, sicut animus amore fertur quocun-
quefertur" (De Civ. Dei, xi. 28).

It ought further to be mentioned that Euler saw that
the inner nature of gravitation must ultimately be refer-
red to an "inclination and desire" (thus will) peculiar to
material bodies (in the 68th letter to the Princess). In-
deed, it is just this that makes him averse to the concep-
tion of gravitation as it existed for Newton, and he is in-
clined to try a modification of it in accordance with the
earlier Cartesian theory, and so to derive gravitation from
the impact of an ether upon the bodies, as being " more
rational and more suitable for persons who like clear and
intelligible principles." He wishes to banish attraction
from physics as a qualitas occulta. This is only in keep-
ing with the dead view of nature which prevailed at
Euler's time as the correlative of the immaterial souL
It is only worth noticing because of its bearing upon the
fundamental truth established by me, which even at that
time this fine intellect saw glimmering in the distance.
He hastened to turn in time, and then, in his anxiety at

166 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. ii.

seeing all the prevalent fundamental views endangered, he
sought safety in the old and already exploded absurdities.
We know that multiplicity in general is necessarily
conditioned by space and time, and is only thinkable in
them. In this respect they are called the principium
indwiduationis. But we have found that space and
time are forms of the principle of sufficient reason. In
this principle all our knowledge a priori is expressed,
but, as we showed above, this a priori knowledge, as such,
only applies to the knowableness of things, not to the
things themselves, i.e., it is only our form of knowledge,
it is not a property of the thing-in-itself. The thing-in-
itself is, as such, free from all forms of knowledge, even
the most universal, that of being an object for the sub-
ject In other words, the thing-in-itself is something
altogether different from the idea. If^now, this thing-
in-itself is the will, as I believe I Have fully and con-
vincingly proved it to be, then, regarded as such and
a^rt from its manifestation, it lies outside time and
space, and therefore knows no multiplicity, and is conse-
quently one. Yet, as I have said, it is not one in the
sense in which an individual or a concept is one, but as
something to which the condition of the possibility of
multiplicity, the principium individuationis, is foreign.
The multiplicity of things in space and time, which
collectively constitute the objectification of will, does not
affect the will itself, which remains indivisible notwith-
standing it. It is not the case that, in some way or
other, a smaller part of will is in the stone and a larger
part in the man, for the relation of part and whole
belongs exclusively to space, and has no longer any
meaning when we go beyond this form of intuition or
perception. The more and the less have application
only to the phenomenon of will, that is, its visibility, its
objectification. Of this there is a higher grade in the plant
than in the stone ; in the animal a higher grade than in
the plant : indeed, the passage of will into visibility, its

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. 167

objectiiication, lias grades as innumerable as exist be-
tween the dimmest twilight and the brightest sunshine,
the loudest sound and the faintest echo. We shall
return later to the consideration of thescTgrades of visi-
bility which belong to the objectification of the will, to
the reflection of its nature. But as the grades of its
objectification do not directly concern the will itself,
still less is it concerned by the multiplicity of the
phenomena of these different grades, ie.} the multitude
of individuals of each form, or the particular manifesta-
tions of each force. For this multiplicity is directly
conditioned by time and space, into which the will itself
never enters. The will reveals itself as completely and
as much in one oak as in millions. Their number and
multiplication in space and time has no meaning with
regard to it, but only with regard to the multiplicity of
individuals who know in space and time, and who are
themselves multiplied and dispersed in these. The mul-
tiplicity of these individuals itself belongs not to the will,
but only to its manifestation. We may therefore say
that if, per impossibUe, a single real existence, even the
most insignificant, were to be entirely annihilated, the
whole world would necessarily perish with it. The
great mystic Angelus Silesius feels this when he says —

" I know God cannot live an instant without me,
He must give up the ghost if I should cease to be.''

Men have tried in various ways to bring the immeasurable
greatness of the material universe nearer to the compre-
hension of us all, and then they have seized the oppor-
tunity to make edifying remarks. They have referred
perhaps to the relative smallness of the earth, and indeed
of man ; or, on the contrary, they have pointed out the
greatness of the mind of this man who is so insignificant —
the mind that can solve, comprehend, and even measure
the greatness of the universe, and so forth. Now, all
this is very well, but to me, when I consider the vast-

168 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. ii.

ness of the world, the most important point is this, that
the thing-in-itself, whose manifestation is the world —
whatever else it may be — cannot have its true self spread
out and dispersed after this fashion in boundless space,
but that this endless extension belongs only to its mani-
festation. The thing-in-itself, on the contrary, is present
^tire and undivided in every object of nature and in every
living being. Therefore we lose nothing by standing still
beside any single individual thing, and true wisdom is
not to be gained by measuring out the boundless world,
or, what would be more to the purpose, by actually
traversing endless space. It is rather to be attained by
the thorough investigation of any individual thing, for
thus we seek to arrive at a full knowledge and under-
standing of its true and peculiar nature.

The subject which will therefore be fully considered
in the next book, and which has, doubtless, already pre-
sented itself to the mind of every student of Plato, is,
that these different grades of the objectification of will
which are manifested in innumerable individuals, and
exist as their unattained types or as the eternal forms of
things, not entering themselves into time and space,
which are the medium of individual things, but remain-
ing fixed, subject to no change, always being, never
becoming, while the particular things arise and pass
away, always become and never are, — that these grades
of the oojedifieaiion of will are, I say, simply Plato 's
Ideas, I make this passing reference to the matter here
in order that I may be able in future to use the word
}Idea in this sense. In my writings, therefore, the word
'is always to be understood in its true and original mean-
ing given to it by Plato, and has absolutely no reference
to those abstract productions of dogmatising scholastic
reason, which Kant has inaptly and illegitimately used
this word to denote, though Plato had already appro-
priated and used it most fitly. Bv Idea, then, I under-
stand every definite and fixed gTade of the objectificatioD

THE 0BJEC1TF1CATI0N OF THE WILL. 169

of will, so far as it is thing-in-itself, and therefore has
no multiplicity. These grades are related to individual
things as their eternal forms or prototypes. The shortest
and most concise statement of this famous Platonic
doctrine is given us by Diogenes Laertes (iii. 12): "6
nXarcov <j>7](n, ev rrj fyvaet, Ta? iBeas iaravcu, icadcnrep
irapaheiyfiara, ra tfaWa TavTais eoiicevai, tovtoov 6/j,ouo-
fi'ara fcadeaicora" — ("Plato ideas in natura velut exem-
plaria dixit subsistere ; cetera his esse similia, ad istarum
similitudinem consistentia "). Of Kant's misuse of the
word I take no further notice ; what it is needful to say
about it will be found in the Appendix.

§ 26. The lowest grades of the objectification of will are
to be found in those most universal forces of nature which
partly appear in all matter without exception, as gravity
and impenetrability, and partly have shared the given matter
among them, so that certain of them reign in one species
of matter and others in another species, constituting its
specific difference, as rigidity, fluidity, elasticity, electricity,
magnetism, chemical properties and qualities of every kind.
They are in themselves immediate manifestations of will,
just as much as human action ; and as such they are
groundless, like human character. Only their particular
manifestations are subordinated to the principle of
sufficient reason, like the particular actions of men. They
themselves, on the other hand, can never be called either
effect or cause, but are the prior and presupposed condi-
tions of all causes and effects through which their real
nature unfolds and reveals itself. It is therefore sense-
less to demand a cause of gravity or electricity, for they
are original forces. Their expressions, indeed, take place
in accordance with the law of cause and effect, so that
every one of their particular manifestations has a cause,
which is itself again just a similar particular manifesta-
tion which determines that this force must express itself
here, must appear in space and time ; but th enforce itself
isby no means the effect of a cause, nor the .cause of an

i7o THE WORLD AS WILL. BK. 11.

effect. It is therefore a mistake to say " gravity is the
cause of a stone falling ; " for the cause in this case is
rather the nearness of the earth, because it attracts the
stone. Take the earth away and the stone will not fall,
although gravity remains. The force itself lies quite
outside the chain of causes and effects, which presupposes
time, because it only has meaning in relation to it ; but
the force lies outside time. The individual change always
has for its cause another change just as individual as
itself, and not the force of which it is the expression.
For that which always gives its efficiency to a cause,
however many times it may appear, is a force of nature.
As such, it is groundless, i.e., it lies outside the chain of
causes and outside the province of the principle of suffi-
cient reason in general, and is philosophically known as
the immediate objectivity of will, which is the "in-itself "
of the whole of nature ; but in etiology, which in this
reference is physics, it is set down as an original force,
i.e., ^jjucdiias occulta.

In the higher grades of the objectivity of will we see
individuality occupy a prominent position, especially in
the case of man, where it appears as the great difference
of individual characters, i.e., as complete personality, out-
wardly expressed in strongly marked individual physi-
ognomy, which influences the whole bodily form. None
of the brutes have this individuality in anything like so
high a degree, though the higher species of them have a
trace of it ; but the character of the species completely
predominates over it, and therefore they have little
individual physiognomy. The farther down we go, the
more completely is every trace of the individual charac-
ter lost in the common character of the species, and the
physiognomy of the species alone remains. We know
the physiological character of the species, and from that
we know exactly what is to be expected from the indi-
vidual; while, on the contrary, in the human species
every individual has to be studied and fathomed for

THE 0BJECT1PICA TION OF THE WILL. 171

himself, which, if we wish to forecast his action with
some degree of certainty, is, on account of the possibility
of concealment that first appears with reason, a matter
of the greatest difficulty. It is probably connected with
this difference of the human species from all others, that
the folds and convolutions of the brain, which are en-
tirely wanting in birds, and very weakly marked in
rodents, are even in the case of the higher animals far more
symmetrical on both sides, and more constantly the same
in each individual, than in the case of human beings.1
It is further to be regarded as a phenomenon of this
peculiar individual character which distinguishes men
from all the lower animals, that in the case of the brutes
the sexual instinct seeks its satisfaction without observable
choice of objects, while in the case of man this choice is,
in a purely instinctive manner and independent of all
reflection, carried so far that it rises into a powerful
passion. While then every man is to be re£arded_as_a_-
s^ecjally^determined and characterised phenomenon of
wilL and indeed to a certain extent as a special Idea,
in the case of the brutes this individual character as a
whole is wanting, because only the species has a special
significance. And the farther we go from man, the
fainter becomes the trace of this individual character, so
that plants have no individual qualities left, except such
as may be fully explained from the favourable or un-
favourable external influences of soil, climate, and other
accidents. Finally, in the inorganic kingdom of nature
all individuality disappears. The crystal alone is to be
regarded as to a certain extent individual. It is a unity
of the tendency in definite directions, fixed by crytallisa-
tion, which makes the trace of this tendency permanent
It is at the same time a cu,mulatiye.j:fipetif"ion, of it«
Tjrimitive form, bound into unity by an idea, just as the

1 Wenzel, De Structura Cerebri 9, arts. 4 and 5 ; Vic. d'Azyr, Hist.
Hominis et Brutorum, 18 12, ch. iii.; de l'Acad. de Sc. de Paris, 1783, pp.
Cuvier, Lecons d'Anat., coinp. lecon 470 and 483.

172 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. ii.

tree is an aggregate of the single germinating fibre which
shows itself in every rib of the leaves, in every leaf, in
every branch; which repeats itself, and to some extent
makes each of these appear as a separate growth,
nourishing itself from the greater as a parasite, so that
the tree, resembling the crystal, is a systematic aggregate
of small plants, although only the whole is the complete
expression of an individual Idea, i.e., of this particular
grade of the objectification of will. But the individuals
of the same species of crystal can have no other difference
than such as is produced by external accidents ; indeed
we can make at pleasure large or small crystals of every
species. The individual, however, as such, that is, with
traces of an individual character, does not exist further
in unorganised nature. All its phenomena are ex-
pressions of general forces of nature, i.e., of those grades
of the objectification of will which do not objectify
themselves (as is the case in organised nature), by means
of the difference of the individualities which collectively
express the whole of the Idea, but show themselves only
in the species, and as a whole, without any variation in
each particular example of it. Time, space, multiplicity,
and existence conditioned by causes, do not belong to
the will or to the Idea (the grade of the objectification of
will), but only to their particular phenomena. There-
fore such a force of nature as, for example, gravity
or electricity, must show itself as such in precisely
the same way in all its million phenomena, and only
external circumstances can modify these. Thjg__ unity
of its being in_all_ its phenomena, thlS-jin changeable
constancy of the appearance of these, whenever, under
the guidance of casuality, the necessary conditions are
present, is called a law of nature. If such a law is
once learned from experience, then the phenomenon of
that force of nature, the character of which is expressed and
laid down in it, may be accurately forecast and counted
upon. But it is just this conformity to law of the

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. 173

phenomena of the lower grades of the objectification of
will which gives them such a different aspect from the
phenomena of the same will in the higher, ie.t the more
distinct, grades of its objectification, in animals, and in
men and their actions, where the stronger or weaker
influence of the individual character and the suscep-
tibility to motives which often remain hidden from the
spectator, because they lie in knowledge, has had the
result that the identity of the inner nature of the two
kinds of phenomena has hitherto been entirely over-
looked.

If we start from the knowledge of the particular, and
not from that of the Idea, there is something astonish-
ing, and sometimes even terrible, in the absolute uni-
formity of the laws of nature. It might astonish us
that nature never once forgets her laws; that if, for
example, it has once been according to a law of nature
that where certain materials are brought together under
given conditions, a chemical combination will take place,
or gas will be evolved, or they will go on fire ; if these
conditions are fulfilled, whether by our interposition or
entirely by chance (and in this case the accuracy is the
more astonishing because unexpected), to-day just as
well as a thousand years ago, the determined pheno-
menon will take place at once and without delay. We
are most vividly impressed with the marvellousness of
this fact in the case of rare phenomena, which only
occur under very complex circumstances, but which we
are previously informed will take place if these con-
ditions are fulfilled. For example, when we are told
that if certain metals, when arranged alternately in
fluid with which an acid has been mixed, are brought
into contact, silver leaf brought between the extremities
of this combination will suddenly be consumed in a
green flame ; or that under certain conditions the hard
diamond turns into carbonic acid. It is the ghostly
omnipresence of natural forces that astonishes us in such

174 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. ii.

cases, and we remark here what in the case of pheno-
mena which happen daily no longer strikes us, how
the connection between cause and effect is really as
mysterious as that which is imagined between a magic
formula and a spirit that must appear when invoked
by it. Qnjihe other hand, if we have attained to the
philosophical knowledge that ,a force of nature, i« _a
definite grade ojJ^_objectification of will, that is to
say, a definite grade of that which we recognise as our
own inmost nature, and that this will in itself, and
distinguished from its phenomena and their forms, jliea,
outside time and space, and that, therefore, the multi-
plicity, which is conditioned by time and space, does not
belong to it, nor directly to the grade of its objectifica-
tion, i.e., the Idea, but only to the phenomena of the
Idea ; and if we remember that the law of causality has
significance only in relation to time and space, inasmuch
as it determines the position of the multitude of pheno-
mena of the different Ideas in which the will reveals
itself, governing the order in which they must appear;
if, I say, in this knowledge the inner meaning of the
great doctrine of Kant has been fully grasped, the
doctrine that time, space, and causality do not belong to
the thing- in-itself, but merely to the phenomenon, that
they are only the forms of our knowledge, not qualities
of things in themselves ; then we shall understand that
this astonishment at the conformity to law and accurate
operation of a force of nature, this astonishment at the
complete sameness of all its million phenomena and the
infallibility of their occurrence, is really like that of a
child or a savage who looks for the first time through a
glass with many facets at a flower, and marvels at the
complete similarity of the innumerable flowers which
he sees, and counts the leaves of each of them sepa-
rately.

Thus every universal, original force of nature is nothing
but a low grade of the objectification of will, and we call

THE OBjfECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. 175

every such grade an eternal Idea in Plato's sense. But
a law of nature is the relation of the Idea to the form of
its manifestation. This form is time, space, and causality,
which are necessarily and inseparably connected and re-
lated to each other. Through time and space the Idea
multiplies itself in innumerable phenomena, but the
order according to which it enters these forms of multi-
plicity is definitely determined by the law of causality; this
law is as it were the norm of the limit of these phenomena
of different Ideas, in accordance with which time, space,
and matter are assigned to them. This norm is there-
fore necessarily related to the identity of the aggregate of
existing matter, which is the common substratum of all
those different phenomena. If all these were not directed
to that common matter in the possession of which they
must be divided, there would be no need for such a law
to decide their claims. They might all at once and to-
gether fill a boundless space throughout an endless time.
Therefore, because all these phenomena of the eternal
Ideas are directed to one and the same matter, must
there be a rule for their appearance and disappearance ;
for if there were not, they would not make way for each
other. Thus the law of causality is essentially bound up
with that of the permanence of substance ; they recipro-
cally derive significance from each other. Time and
space, again, are related to them in the same way. For
time is merely the possibility of conflicting states _ofJhg
same matter, and ^jwg fc r^wiy Jftf possibility "0f $*k
permanence of the same m.attej^u^der_all sorts of con^
flicting states. Accordingly, in the preceding book we
explained matter as the union of space and time, and
this union shows itself as change of the accidents in
the permanence of the substance, of which causality or
becoming is the universal possibility. And accordingly,
we said that matter is through and through causality.
We explained the understanding as the subjective o.nrva.
latiye^of causality, and said matter (and thus the whole

176 THE WORLD AS WILL. BK. n.

world as idea) exists only for the understanding; the
understanding is its condition, its supporter as its neces-
sary correlative. I repeat all this in passing, merely to
call to mind what was demonstrated in the First Book,
for it is necessary for the complete understanding of
these two books that their inner agreement should be
observed, since what is inseparably united in the actual
world as its two sides, will and idea, has, in order that
we might understand each of them more clearly in isola-
tion, been dissevered in these two books.

It may not perhaps be superfluous to elucidate further
by an example how the law of causality has meaning
only in relation to time and space, and the matter which
consists in the union of the two. For it determines the
limits in accordance with which the phenomena of the
forces of nature divide themselves in the possession of
matter, while the original forces of nature, as the imme-
diate objectification of will, which, as a thing in itself, is
not subordinated to the principle of sufficient reason, lie
outside these forms, within which alone all etiological
explanation has validity and meaning, and just on that
account can never lead us to the inner reality of nature.
For this purpose let us think of some kind of machine
constructed according to the laws of mechanics. Iron
weights begin the motion by their gravity ; copper wheels
resist by their rigidity, affect and raise each other and
the lever by their impenetrability, and so on. Here
gravity, rigidity, and impenetrability are original unex-
plained forces ; mechanics only gives us the condition
under which, and the manner in which, they manifest
themselves, appear, and govern a definite matter, time,
and place. If, now, a strong magnet is made to attract
the iron of the weight, and overcome its gravity, the
movement of the machine stops, and the matter becomes
forthwith the scene of quite a different force of nature
— magnetism, of which etiology again gives no further
explanation than the condition under which it appears.

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. i77

Or let us suppose that the copper discs of such a machine
are laid upon zinc plates, and an acid solution introduced
between them. At once the same matter of the machine
has become subject to another original force, galvanism,
which now governs it according to its own laws, and
reveals itself in it through its phenomena ; and etiology
can again tell us nothing about this force except the
conditions under which, and the laws in accordance with
which, it manifests itself. Let us now raise the tem-
perature and add pure acid ; the whole machine burns ;
that is to say, once more an entirely different force of
nature, chemical energy, asserts at this time and in this
place irresistible claims to this particular matter, and
reveals itself in it as Idea, as a definite grade of the
objectification of will. The calcined metal thus produced
now unites with an acid, and a salt is obtained which
forms itself into crystals. These are the phenomena
of another Idea, which in itself is again quite inex-
plicable, while the appearance of its phenomena is
dependent upon certain conditions which etiology can
give us. The crystals dissolve, mix with other materials,
and vegetation springs up from them — a new pheno-
menon of will : and so the same permanent matter may
be followed ad infinitum, to observe how now this and
now that natural force obtains a right to it and temporarily
takes possession of it, in order to appear and reveal its
own nature. The condition of this right, the point of
time and space at which it becomes valid, is given by
causality, but the explanation founded upon this ]aw only
extends thus far. The force itself is a manifestation of
will, and as such is not subject to the forms of the prin-
ciple of sufficient reason, that is, it is groundless. It lies
outside all time, is omnipresent, and seems as it were to
wait constantly till the circumstances occur under which
it can appear and take possession of a definite matter,
supplanting the forces which have reigned in it till then.
All time exists only for the phenomena of such a force.
vol. I. M

I78 THE WORLD AS WILL. BK. n.

and is without significance for the force itself. Through
thousands of years chemical forces slumber in matter till
the contact with the reagents sets them free ; then they
appear ; but time exists only for the phenomena, not for
the forces themselves. For thousands of years galvanism
slumbered in copper and zinc, and they lay quietly beside
silver, which must be consumed in flame as soon as all
three are brought together under the required conditions.
Even in the organic kingdom we see a dry seed preserve
the slumbering force through three thousand years, and
when at last the favourable circumstances occur, grow up
as a plant.1

If by this exposition the difference between a force of
nature and all its phenomena has been made quite dis-
tinct ; if we have seen clearly that the former is the will
itself at this particular grade of its objectification, but
that multiplicity comes to phenomena only through time
and space, and that the law of causality is nothing but
the determination of the position of these phenomena in
/time and space; then we shall recognise the complete
truth and the deep meaning of Malebranche's doctrine of
occasional causes (causes occasionelles). It is well worth

3 On the 1 6th of September 1840, years old. He had planted it in a

at a lecture upon Egyptian Archseo- flower-pot, in which it grew up and

logy delivered by Mr. Pettigrew at flourished. This is quoted from the

the Literary and Scientific Institute Medical Journal of 1830 in the Jour-

of London, he showed some corns of nal of the Koyal Institution of Great

wheat which Sir G. Wilkinson had Britain, October 1830, p. 196.— "In

found in a grave at Thebes, in which the garden of Mr. Grimstone of the

they must have lain for three thou- Herbarium, Highgate. London, is a

sand years. They were found in an pea in full fruit, which has sprung

hermetically sealed vase. Mr. Petti- from a pea that Mr. Pettigrew and

grew had sowed twelve grains, and the officials of the British Museum

obtained a plant which grew five feet took out of a vase which had been

high, and the seeds of which were found in an Egyptian sarcophagus,

now quite ripe. — Times, 21st Septem- where it must have lain 2S44 years."

ber 1840. In the same way in 1830 —Times, 16th August 1844. Indeed,

Mr. Haulton produced in the Medical the living toads found in limestone

Botanical Society of London a bui- lead to the conclusion that even ani-

bous root which was found in the mal life is capable of such a suspen-

hand of an Egyptian mummy, in sion for thousands of years, if this

which it was probably put in observ- is begun in the dormant period

Mice of some religious rite, and which and maintained by special circuit

must have been at least two thousand stances.

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. i79

while comparing this doctrine of his, as he explains it in
the "Becherches de la V^rite," both in the 3rd Chapter of
the second part of the 6th Book, and in the eclaircisse-
ments appended to this chapter, with this exposition of
mine, and observing the complete agreement of the two
doctrines in the case of such different systems of thought
Indeed I cannot help admiring how Malebranche, though
thoroughly involved in the positive dogmas which his aae
inevitably forced upon him, yet, in such bonds and under
such a burden, hit the truth so happily, so correctly, and
even knew how to combine it with these dogmas, at all
events verbally.

For the power of truth is incredibly great and of un-
speakable endurance. We find constant traces of it in
all, even the most eccentric and absurd dogmas, of diffe-
rent times and different lands,— often indeed in stran-e
company, curiously mixed up with other things, but still
recognisable. It is like a plant that germinates under a
heap o( great stones, but still struggles up to the LVrht
working itself through with many deviations and windinW
disfigured, worn out, stunted in its growth,— but yet °to
the light. '

u In any case Malebranche is right : every natural cause
is only an occasional cause. It only gives opportunity
or occasion for the manifestation of the one indivisible
will which is the "in-itself" of all things, and whose
graduated objectification is the whole visible world. Only
the appearance, the becoming visible, in this place, at
this time, is brought about by the cause and is so far
dependent on it, but not the whole of the phenomenon
nor its inner nature. This is the will itself, to which
the principle of sufficient reason has not application, and
which is therefore groundless. Nothing in the world has
a sufficient cause of its existence generally, but only a
cause of existence just here and just now. That a
stone exhibits now gravity, now rigidity, now elec-
tricity, now chemical qualities, depends upon causes,

(

rfo THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. n.

upon impressions upon it from without, and is to be
explained from these. But these qualities themselves,
and thus the whole inner nature of the stone which con-
sists in them, and therefore manifests itself in all the
ways referred to ; thus, in genera], that the stone is such
as it is, that it exists generally — all this, I say, has no
ground, but is the visible appearance of the groundless
will. Every ^njiRP ^ f1l11g an nnnaAinnal rflusft. We have
found it to be so in nature, which is without knowledge,
and it is also precisely the same when motives and not
causes or stimuli determine the point at which the phe-
nomena are to appear, that is to say, in the actions of
animals and human beings. For in both cases it is one
and the same will which appears ; very different in the
grades of its manifestation, multiplied in the phenomena
of these grades, and, in respect of these, subordinated to
the principle of sufficient reason, but in itself free from
all this. Motives do not determine the character of man,
but only the phenomena of his character, that is, his
actions; the outward fashion of his life, not its inner
meaning and content These proceed from the character
which is the immediate manifestation of the will, and is
therefore groundless. ''That one man is bad and another
good, does not depend upon motives or outward influ-
ences, such as teaching and preaching, and is in this
sense quite inexplicable. But whether a bad man shows
his badness in petty acts of injustice, cowardly tricks,
and low knavery which he practises in the narrow sphere
of his circumstances, or whether as a conqueror he op-
presses nations, throws a world into lamentation, and
sheds the blood of millions ; this is the outward form
of his manifestation, that which is unessential to it, and
depends upon the circumstances in which fate has placed
him, upon his surroundings, upon external influences,
upon motives ; but his decision upon these motives can
never be explained from them ; it proceeds from the will,
of which this man is a manifestation/' Of this we shall

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. 181

speak in the Fourth Book. The manner in which the
character discloses its qualities is quite analogous to the
way in which those of every material body in unconscious
nature are disclosed. Water remains water with its
intrinsic qualities, whether as a still lake it reflects its
banks, or leaps in foam from the cliffs, or, artificially con-
fined, spouts in a long jet into the air. All that depends
upon external causes ; the one form is as natural to it as
the other, but it will always show the same form in the
same circumstances ; it is equally ready for any, but in
every case true to its character, and at all times reveal-
ing this alone. So will every human character under
all circumstances reveal itself, but the phenomena which
proceed from it will always be in accordance with the
circumstances.

§ 27. If, from the foregoing consideration of the
forces of nature and their phenomena, we have come to
see clearly how far an explanation from causes can go,
and where it must stop if it is not to degenerate into the
vain attempt to reduce the content of all phenomena to
their mere form, in which case there would ultimately
remain nothing but form, we shall be able to settle in
general terms what is to be demanded of etiology as a
whole. It must seek out the causes of all phenomena
in nature, i.e., the circumstances under which they in-
variably appear. Then it must refer the multitude of
phenomena which have various forms in various circum-
stances to what is active in every phenomenon, and is
presupposed in the cause, — original forces of nature. It
must correctly distinguish between a difference of the
phenomenon which arises from a difference of the force,
and one which results merely from a difference of the
circumstances under which the force expresses itself;
and with equal care it must guard against taking the
expressions of one and the same force under different
circumstances for the manifestations of different forces,
and conversely against taking for manifestations of one

182 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk.il

and the same force what originally belongs to different
forces. Now this is the direct work of the faculty of
judgment, and that is why so few men are capable of
increasing our insight in physics, while all are able to
enlarge experience. Indolence and ignorance make us
disposed to appeal too soon to original forces. This is
exemplified with an exaggeration that savours of irony
in the entities and quidities of the schoolmen. Nothiug
is further from my desire than to favour their resusci-
tation. We have just as little right to appeal to the
objectiiication of will, instead of giving a physical ex-
planation, as we have to appeal to the creative power of
God. For physics demands causes, and the will is never
a cause. Its whole relation to the phenomenon is not in
accordance with the principle of sufficient reason. But
that which in itself is the will exists in another aspect
as idea; that is to say, is phenomenon. As such, it
obeys the laws which constitute the form of the pheno-
menon. Every movement, for example, although it is
always a manifestation of will, must yet have a cause
from which it is to be explained in relation to a par-
ticular time and space; that is, not in general in its
inner nature, but as a particular phenomenon. In the
case of the stone, this is a mechanical cause ; in that of
the movement of a man, it is a motive ; but in no case
can it be wanting. On the other hand, the universal
common nature of all phenomena of one particular kind,
that which must be presupposed if the explanation from
causes is to have any sense and meaning, is the general
force of nature, which, in physics, must remain a qualita*
occulta, because with it the etiological explanation ends
and the metaphysical begins. But the chain of causes
and effects is never broken by an original force to which
it has been necessary to appeal. It does not run back
to such a force as if it were its first link, but the nearest
link, as well as the remotest, presupposes the original
force, and could otherwise explain nothing. A series of

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. 183

causes and effects may be the manifestation of the most
different kinds of forces, whose successive visible appear-
ances are conducted through it, as I have illustrated above
by the example of a metal machine. But the difference
of these original forces, which cannot be referred to each
other, by no means breaks the unity of that chain of causes,
and the connection between all its links. The etiology
and the philosophy of nature never do violence to
each other', but go hand in hand, regarding the same
object from different points of view. Etiology gives an
account of the causes which necessarily produce the par-
ticular phenomenon to be explained. It exhibits, as the
foundation of all its explanations, the universal forces
which are active in all these causes and effects. It
accurately defines, enumerates, and distinguishes these
forces, and then indicates all the different effects in which
each force appears, regulated by the difference of the
circumstances, always in accordance with its own peculiar
character, which it discloses in obedience to an invariable
rule, called a law of nature. When all this has been
thoroughly accomplished by physics in every particular,
it will be complete, and its work will be done. There
will then remain no unknown force in unorganised nature,
nor any effect, which has not been proved to be the mani-
festation of one of these forces under definite circum-
stances, in accordance with a law of nature. Yet a law
of nature remains merely the observed rule according to
which nature invariably proceeds whenever certain definite
circumstances occur. Therefore a law of nature may be
defined as a fact expressed generally — unfait ge'ndralise' —
and thus a complete enumeration of all the laws of nature
would only be a complete register of facts. The con-
sideration of nature as a whole is thus completed in
morphology, which enumerates, compares, and arranges all
the enduring forms of organised nature. Of the causes
of the appearance of the individual creature it has little
to say, for in all cases this is procreation (the theory of

1 84 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. ii.

which is a separate matter), and in rare cases the generatio
cequivoca. But to this last belongs, strictly speaking, the
manner in which all the lower grades of the objectifica-
tion of will, that is to say, physical and chemical pheno-
mena, appear as individual, and it is precisely the task
of etiology to point out the conditions of this appearance.
Philosophy, on the other hand, concerns itself only with
the universal, in nature as everywhere else. The original
forces themselves are here its object, and it recognises in
them the different grades of the objectivity of will, which
is the inner nature, the " in-itself " of this world ; and
when it regards the world apart from will, it explains it
as merely the idea of the subject. But if etiology, in-
stead of preparing the way for philosophy, and supplying
its doctrines with practical application by means of
instances, supposes that its aim is rather to deny the
existence of all original forces, except perhaps one, the
most general, for example, impenetrability, which it
imagines it thoroughly understands, and consequently
seeks forcibly to refer all the others to it — it forsakes its
own province and can only give us error instead of
truth. The content of nature is supplanted by its form,
everything is ascribed to the circumstances which work
from without, and nothing to the inner nature of the
thing. Now if it were possible to succeed by this method,
a problem in arithmetic would ultimately, as we have
already remarked, solve the riddle of the universe. But
this is the method adopted by those, referred to above,
who think that all physiological effects ought to be reduced
to form and combination, this, perhaps, to electricity, and
this again to chemism, and chemism to mechanism. The
mistake of Descartes, for example, and of all the Atomists,
was of this last description. They referred the move-
ments of the globe to the impact of a fluid, and the
qualities of matter to the connection and form of the
atoms, and hence they laboured to explain all the pheno-
mena of nature as merely manifestations of impenetra-

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. 185

bility and cohesion. Although this has been given up,
precisely the same error is committed in our own day by
the electrical, chemical, and mechanical physiologists, who
obstinately attempt to explain the whole of life and all the
functions of the organism from " form and combination."
In Meckel's "Archiv fur Physiologie " (1820, vol. v. p.
185) we still find it stated that the aim of physiological
explanation is the reduction of organic life to the universal
forces with which physics deals. Lamarck also, in his
" Philosophic Zoologique" explains life as merely the
effect of warmth and electricity : le calorique et la matiere
electrique sufflsent parfaitement pour composer ensemble cette
cause essentielle de la vie (p. 1 6). According to this, warmth
and electricity would be the " thing-in-itself," and the
world of animals and plants its phenomenal appearance.
The absurdity of this opinion becomes glaringly apparent
at the 306th and following pages of that work. It is
well known that all these opinions, that have been so
often refuted, have reappeared quite recently with re-
newed confidence. If we carefully examine the founda-
tion of these views, we shall find that they ultimately
involve the presupposition that the organism is merely
an aggregate of phenomena of physical, chemical, and me-
chanical forces, which have come together here by chance,
and produced the organism as a freak of nature without
further significance. The organism of an animal or of a
human being would therefore be, if considered philosophi-
cally, not the exhibition of a special Idea, that is, not itself
immediate objectivity of the will at a definite higher
grade, but in it would appear only those Ideas which
objectify the will in electricity, in chemism, and in
mechanism. Thus the organism would be as fortuitously
constructed by the concurrence of these forces as the
forms of men and beasts in clouds and stalactites, and
would therefore in itself be no more interesting than they
are. However, we shall see immediately how far the
application of physical and chemical modes of explana-

186 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. II.

tion to the organism may yet, within certain limits, be
allowable and useful ; for I shall explain that the vital
force certainly avails itself of and uses the forces of
unorganised nature ; yet these forces no more constitute
the vital force than a hammer and anvil make a black-
smith. Therefore even the most simple example of plant
life can never be explained from these forces by any
theory of capillary attraction and endosmose, much less
animal life. The following observations will prepare the
way for this somewhat difficult discussion.

It follows from all that has been said that it is
certainly an error on the part of natural science to seek
to refer the higher grades of the objectirication of will to
the lower ; for the failure to recognise, or the denial of,
original and self-existing forces of nature is just as wrong
as the groundless assumption of special forces when what
occurs is merely a peculiar kind of manifestation of what
is already known. Thus Kant rightly says that it would
be absurd to hope for a blade of grass from a Newton,
that is, from one who reduced the blade of grass to the
manifestions of physical and chemical forces, of which it
was the chance product, and therefore a mere freak of
nature, in which no special Idea appeared, i.e., the will
did not directly reveal itself in it in a higher and
specific grade, but just as in the phenomena of unor-
ganised nature and by chance in this form. The school-
men, who certainly would not have allowed such a
doctrine, would rightly have said that it was a complete
denial of the forma substantial™, and a degradation of it
to the forma axcidentalis. For the forma sulstantialis of
Aristotle denotes exactly what I call the grade of the
objectirication of will in a thing. On the other hand,
it is not to be overlooked that in all ixleas, that is, in all
forces of unorganised, and all forms of organised nature,
it is one and the same will that reveals itself, that is to
say, which enters the form of the idea and passes into objec-
tivity. Its unity must therefore be also recognisable

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. 187

through an inner relationship between all its phenomena.
Now this reveals itself in the higher grades of the ob-
jectification of will, where the whole phenomenon is more
distinct, thus in the vegetable and animal kingdoms,
through the universally prevailing analogy of all forms,
the fundamental type which recurs in all phenomena.
This has, therefore, become the guiding principle of the
admirable zoological system which was originated
by the French in this century, and it is most com-
pletely established in comparative anatomy as Vunite
de plan, Vuniformitd de ViUment anatonrique. To dis-
cover this fundamental type has been the chief con-
cern, or at any rate the praiseworthy endeavour, of
the natural philosophers of the school of Schelling, who
have in this respect considerable merit, although in
many cases their hunt after analogies in nature degener-
ated into mere conceits. They have, however, rightly
shown that that general relationship and family likeness
exists also in the Ideas of unorganised nature ; for
example, between electricity and magnetism, the iden-
tity of which was afterwards established ; between che-
mical attraction and gravitation, and so forth. They
specially called attention to the fact that polarity, that
is, the sundering of a force into two qualitatively dif-
ferent and opposed activities striving after reunion,
which also shows itself for the most part in space as a
dispersion in opposite directions, is a fundamental type
of almost all the phenomena of nature, from the magnet
and the crystal to man himself. Yet this knowledge
has been current in China from the earliest times, in the
doctrine of opposition of Yin and Yang. Indeed, since
all things in the world are the objectification of one and
the same will, and therefore in their inner nature iden-
tical, it must not only be the case that there is that
unmistakable analogy between them, and that in every
phenomenon the trace, intimation, and plan of the
higher phenomenon that lies next to it in point of

..

1 88 THE WORLD AS WILL. BK

development shows itself, but also because all these
forms belong to the world as idea, it is indeed conceiv-
able that even in the most universal forms of the idea,
in that peculiar framework of the phenomenal world
space and time, it may be possible to discern and estab-
lish the fundamental type, intimation, and plan of what
iills the forms. It seems to have been a dim notion of
this that was the origin of the Cabala and all the mathe-
matical philosophy of the Pythagoreans, and also of the •
Chinese in Y-king. In the school of Schelling also, to
which we have already referred, we find, among their
efforts to bring to light the similarity among the pheno-
mena of nature, several attempts (though rather unfor-
tunate ones) to deduce laws of nature from the laws
of pure space and time. However, one can never tell to
what extent a man of genius will realise both endeavours.

Now, although the difference between phenomenon
and thing-in-itself is never lost sight of, and therefore
the identity of the will which objectifies itself in all
Ideas can never (because it has different grades of its
objectification) be distorted to mean identity of the
particular Ideas themselves in which it appears, so that,
for example, chemical or electrical attraction can never be
reduced to the attraction of gravitation, although this
inner analogy is known, and the former may be regarded
as, so to speak, higher powers of the latter, just as
little does the similarity of the construction of all
animals warrant us in mixing and identifying the
species and explaining the more developed as mere
variations of the less developed; and although, finally,
the physiological functions are never to be reduced to
chemical or physical processes, yet, in justification of this
procedure, within certain limits, we may accept the fol-
lowing observations as highly probable.

If several of the phenomena of will in the lower
grades of its objectification — that is, in unorganised nature
—come into conflict because each of them, under the

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL, 189

guidance of causality, seeks to possess a given portion of
matter, there arises from the conflict the phenomenon of
a higher Idea which prevails over all the less developed
phenomena previously there, yet in such a way that it
allows the essence of these to continue to exist in a
subordinate manner, in that it takes up into itself from
them something which is analogous to them. .This
process is only intelligible from the identity of the will
which manifests itself in all the Ideas, and which is
always striving after higher objectification. We thus
see, for example, in the hardening of the bones, an
unmistakable analogy to crystallisation, as the force
which originally had possession of the chalk, although
ossification is never to be reduced to crystallisation.
The analogy shows itself in a weaker degree in the flesh
becoming firm. The combination of humours in the
animal body and secretion are also analogous to chemi-
cal combination and separation. Indeed, the laws of
chemistry are still strongly operative in this case, but
subordinated, very much modified, and mastered by a
higher Idea ; therefore mere chemical forces outside the
organism will never afford us such humours ; but

" Encheiresin naturae nennt es die Chemie,
Spottet ihrer selbst und weiss nicht wie."

The more developed Idea resulting from this victory over
several lower Ideas or objectifications of will, gains an
entirely new character by taking up into itself from every
Idea over which it has prevailed a strengthened analogy.
The will objectifies itself in a new, more distinct way.
It originally appears in generatio cequivoca ; afterwards in
assimilation to the given germ, organic moisture, plant,
animal, man. Thus from the strife of lower phenomena
the higher arise, swallowing them all up, but yet realis-
ing in the higher grade the tendency of all the lower.
Here, then, already the law applies — Serpens nisi set-
pentem comederit non fit draco.

190 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk.il

I wish it had been possible for me to dispel by clear-
ness of explanation the obscurity which clings to the
subject of these thoughts ; but I see very well that the
reader's own consideration of the matter must materially
aid me if I am not to remain uncomprehended or mis-
understood. According to the view I have expressed,
the traces of chemical and physical modes of operation
will indeed be found in the organism, but it can never
be explained from them ; because it is by no means a
phenomenon even accidentally brought about through the
united actions of such forces, but a higher Idea which
has overcome these lower ideas by subduing assimilation ;
for the one will which objectifies itself in all Ideas always
seeks the highest possible objectification, and has there-
fore in this case given up the lower grades of its
manifestation after a conflict, in order to appear in a
higher grade, and one so much the more powerful. No
victory without conflict : since the higher Idea or objec-
tification of will can only appear through the conquest
of the lower, it endures the opposition of these lower
Ideas, which, although brought into subjection, still con-
stantly strive to obtain an independent and complete
expression of their being. The magnet that has attracted
a piece of iron carries on a perpetual conflict with gravi-
tation, which, as the lower objectification of will, has a
prior right to the matter of the iron ; and in this constant
battle the magnet indeed grows stronger, for the opposi-
tion excites it, as it were, to greater effort. In the same
way every manifestation of the will, including that which
expresses itself in the human organism, wages a con-
stant war against the many physical nnd chemical forces
which, as lower Ideas, have a prior right to that matter.
Thus the arm falls which for a while, overcoming gravity,
we have held stretched out; thus the pleasing sensa-
tion of health, which proclaims the victory of the Idea
of the self-conscious organism over the physical and
chemical laws, which originally governed the humours of

THE 0BJECT1FICATI0N OF THE WILL. iqi

the body, is so often interrupted, and is indeed always
accompanied by greater or less discomfort, which arises
from the resistance of these forces, and on account of
which the vegetative part of our life is constantly attended
by slight pain. Thus also digestion weakens all the ani-
mal functions, because it requires the whole vital force to
overcome the chemical forces of nature by assimilation.
Hence also in general the burden of physical life, the
necessity of sleep, and, finally, of death ; for at last these
subdued forces of nature, assisted by circumstances, win
back from the organism, wearied even by the constant
victory, the matter it took from them, and attain to an
unimpeded expression of their being. We may therefore
say that every organism expresses the Idea of which it is
the image, only after we have subtracted the part of its
force which is expended in subduing the lower Ideas that
strive with it for matter. This seems to have been
running in the mind of Jacob Bohm when he says some-
where that all the bodies of men and animals, and even
all plants, are really half dead. According as the sub-
jection in the organism of these forces of nature, which
express the lower grades of the objectification of will, is
more or less successful, the more or the less completely
does it attain to the expression of its Idea ; that is to
say, the nearer it is to the ideal or the further from it —
the ideal of beauty in its species.

Thus everywhere in nature we see strife, conflict, and
alternation of victory, and in it we shall come to recognise
more distinctly that variance with itself which is essential
to the will. Every grade of the objectification of will
fights for the matter, the space, and the time of the others.
The permanent matter must constantly change its form ;
for under the guidance of causality, mechanical, physical,
chemical, and organic phenomena, eagerly striving to ap-
pear, wrest the matter from each other, for each desires
to reveal its own Idea. This strife may be followed through
the whole of nature ; indeed nature exists only through it :

192 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. ii.

€i yap fir) i)v to veucos ev Tot? irpayiiacnv, ev av rjv diravra,
a>? <t>rjaiv Efnre&otcXr)? (nam si non inesset in rebus con-
tentio, unum omnia essent, ut ait Empedocles. Aria.
Metaph., B. 5). Yet this strife itself is only the revela-
tion of that variance with itself which is essential to the
will. This universal conflict becomes most distinctly
visible in the animal kingdom. For animals have the
whole of the vegetable kingdom for their food, and even
within the animal kingdom every beast is the prey and
the food of another ; that is, the matter in which its Idea
expresses itself must yield itself to the expression of
another Idea, for each animal can only maintain its exist-
ence by the constant destruction of some other. Thus
the will to live everywhere preys upon itself, and in dif-
ferent forms is its own nourishment, till finally the human
race, because it subdues all the others, regards nature as
a manufactory for its use. Yet even the human race, as
we shall see in the Fourth Book, reveals in itself with
most terrible distinctness this conflict, this variance with
itself of the will, and we find homo homini hvpus. Mean-
while we can recognise this strife, this subjugation, just
as well in the lower grades of the objectification of will.
Many insects (especially ichneumon-flies) lay their eggs
on the skin, and even in the body of the larvae of other
insects, whose slow destruction is the first work of the
newly hatched brood. The young hydra, which grows
like a bud out of the old one, and afterwards separates
itself from it, fights while it is still joined to the old one
for the prey that offers itself, so that the one snatches
it out of the mouth of the other (Trembley, Polypod., ii
p. no, and iii. p. 165). But the bulldog-ant of Aus-
tralia affords us the most extraordinary example of this
kind ; for if it is cut in two, a battle begins between the
head and the tail. The head seizes the tail with its teeth,
and the tail defends itself bravely by stinging the head :
the battle may last for half an hour, until they die or are
dragged away by other ants. This contest takes place

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. 193

every time the experiment is tried. (From a letter by
Howitt in the W. Journal, reprinted in Galignani's Mes-
senger, 17th November 1855.) On the banks of the
Missouri one sometimes sees a mighty oak the stem and
branches of which are so encircled, fettered, and interlaced
by a gigantic wild vine, that it withers as if choked. The
same thing shows itself in the lowest grades ; for example,
when water and carbon are changed into vegetable sap, or
vegetables or bread into blood by organic assimilation;
and so also in every case in which animal secretion takes
place, along with the restriction of chemical forces to a
subordinate mode of activity. This also occurs in unor-
ganised nature, when, for example, crystals in process of
formation meet, cross, and mutually disturb each other to
such an extent that they are unable to assume the pure
crystalline form, so that almost every cluster of crystals
is an image of such a conflict of will at this low grade of
its objectification ; or again, when a magnet forces its
magnetism upon iron, in order to express its Idea in it ;
or when galvanism overcomes chemical affinity, decom-
poses the closest combinations, and so entirely suspends
the laws of chemistry that the acid of a decomposed salt
at the negative pole must pass to the positive pole with-
out combining with the alkalies through which it goes
on its way, or turning red the litmus paper that touches
it. On a large scale it shows itself in the relation between
the central body and the planet, for although the planet
is in absolute dependence, yet it always resists, just like
the chemical forces in the organism; hence arises the
constant tension between centripetal and centrifugal force,
which keeps the globe in motion, and is itself an example
of that universal essential conflict of the manifestation of
will which we are considering. For as every body must
be regarded as the manifestation of a will, and as will
necessarily expresses itself as a struggle, the original con-
dition of every world that is formed into a globe cannot
be rest, but motion, a striving forward in boundless space
vol. 1. N

194

THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. ii.

without rest and without end. Neither the law of inertia
nor that of causality is opposed to this: for as, accord-
in<* to the former, matter as such is alike indifferent
to rest and motion, its original condition may just as
well be the one as the other, therefore if we first find
it in motion, we have just as little right to assume
that this was preceded by a condition of rest, and to
inquire into the cause of the origin of the motion, as,
conversely, if we found it at rest, we would have to
assume a previous motion and inquire into the cause of
its suspension. It is, therefore, not needful to seek for a
first impulse for centrifugal force, for, according to the
hypothesis of Kant and Laplace, it is, in the case of the
planets, the residue of the original rotation of the central
body, from which the planets have separated themselves
as it contracted. But to this central body itself motion
is essential ; it always continues its rotation, and at the
same time rushes forward in endless space, or perhaps circu-
lates round a greater central body invisible to us. This
view entirely agrees with the conjecture of astronomers that
there is a central sun, and also with the observed advance
of our whole solar system, and perhaps of the whole
stellar system to which our sun belongs. From this we
are finally led to assume a general advance of fixed stars,
together with the central sun, and this certainly loses all
meaning in boundless space (for motion in absolute space
cannot be distinguished from rest), and becomes, as is
already the case from its striving and aimless flight, an
expression of that nothingness, that failure of all aim,
which, at the close of this book, we shall be obliged to
recognise in the striving of will in all its phenomena.
Thus boundless space and endless time must be the most
universal and essential forms of the collective phenomena
of will, which exist for the expression of its whole being.
Lastly, we can recognise that conflict which we are con-
sidering of all phenomena of will against each other in
simple matter regarded as such ; for the real character-

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. 195

istic of matter is correctly expressed by Kant as repulsive
and attractive force ; so that even crude matter has its
existence only in the strife of conflicting forces. If we
abstract from all chemical differences in matter, or go so
far back in the chain of causes and effects that as yet
there is no chemical difference, there remains mere
matter, — the world rounded to a globe, whose life, i.e.,
objectification of will, is now constituted by the conflict
between attractive and repulsive forces, the former as
gravitation pressing from all sides towards the centre,
the latter as impenetrability always opposing the former
either as rigidity or elasticity ; and this constant pressure
and resistance may be regarded as the objectivity of will
in its very lowest grade, and even there it expresses its
character.

Wg-, should see the will express itself here in the
lowest grade as blind striving, an obscure, inarticulate
impulse, far from susceptible of being directly known.
It is the simplest and the weakest mode of its objectifi-
cation. But it appears as this blind and unconscious
striving in the whole of unorganised nature, in all those
original forces of which it is the work of physics and
chemistry to discover and to study the laws, and each of
which manifests itself to us in millions of phenomena
which are exactly similar and regular, and show no
trace of individual character, but are mere multiplicity
through space and time, i.e., through the principium indi-
viduationis, as a picture is multiplied through the facets of
a glass.

From grade to grade objectifying itself more distinctly,
yet still completely without consciousness as an obscure
striving force, the will acts in the vegetable kingdom
also, in which the bond of its phenomena consists no
longer properly of causes, but of stimuli ; and, finally,
also in the vegetative part of the animal phenomenon, in
the production and maturing of the animal, and in sus-
taining its inner economy, in which the manifestation of

196 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. II.

will is still always necessarily determined by stimuli.
The ever-ascending grades of the objectification of will
bring us at last to the point at which the individual that
expresses the Idea could no longer receive food for its
assimilation through mere movement following upon
stimuli For such a stimulus must be waited for, but
the food has now come to be of a more special and definite
kind, and with the ever-increasing multiplicity of the
individual phenomena, the crowd and confusion has be-
come so great that they interfere with each other, and
the chance of the individual that is moved merely by
stimuli and must wait for its food would be too un-
favourable. JExom the point, therefore, at which the
animal has delivered itself from the egg or the womb in
which it vegetated without consciousness, its food must
be sought out and selected For this purpose movement
following upon motives, and therefore consciousness, be-
comes necessary, and consequently it appears as an agent*
firiXavT), called in at this stage of the objectification of will
for the conservation of the individual and the propagation
of the species. It appears represented by the brain or a
large ganglion, just as every other effort or determination
of the will which objectifies itself is represented by an |j
organ, that is to say, manifests itself for the idea as an jj
orgam* But with this means of assistance, this /Mrrxavrf,
ttie world as idea comes into existence at a stroke, with
gill its forms, object and subject, time, space, multiplicity,
and causality. The world now shows its second side.
Till now mere will, it becomes also idea, object of the
knowing subject The will, which up to this point
followed its tendency in the dark with unerring certainty,
has at this grade kindled for itself a light as a means
which became necessary for getting rid of the disad-j
vantage which arose from the throng and the complicated I

1 Of. Chap. xxii. of the Supplement, 46 et teq.t and pp. 63-72 of th« 1

and also my work "Ueber den Willen second, or p. 48 et seq., and pp. |

in der Natur," p. 54 et teq., and 69-77 of the third edition.
pp. 70-79 of the first edition, or p.

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. 197

nature of its manifestations, and which would have
accrued precisely to the most perfect of them. The
hitherto infallible certainty and regularity with which
it worked in unorganised and merely vegetative nature,
rested upon the fact that it alone was active in its
original nature, as blind impulse, will, without assistance,
and also without interruption, from a second and entirely
different world, the world as idea, which is indeed only the
image of its own inner being, but is yet of quite another
nature, and now encroaches on the connected whole of its
phenomena. Hence its infallible certainty comes to an
end. Animals are already exposed to illusion, to deception.
They have, however, merely ideas of perception, no con-
ceptions, no reflection, and they are therefore bound to
the present; they cannot have regard for the future. It
seems as if this knowledge without reason was not in all
cases sufficient for its end, and at times required, as it were,
some assistance. For the very remarkable phenomenon
presents itself, that the blind working of the will and the
activity enlightened by knowledge encroach in a most
astonishing manner upon each other's spheres in two kinds
of phenomena. In the one case we find in the very midst
of those actions of animals which are guided by per-
ceptive knowledge and its motives one kind of action
which is accomplished apart from these, and thus through
the necessity of the blindly acting will. I refer to those
mechanical instincts which are guided by no motive or
knowledge, and which yet have the appearance of per-
forming their work from abstract rational motives. The
other case, which is opposed to this, is that in which, on
the contrary, the light of knowledge penetrates into the
workshop of the blindly active will, and illuminates the
vegetative functions of the human organism. I mean
clairvoyance. Finally, when the will has attained to the
highest grade of its objectification, that knowledge of the
understanding given to brutes to which the senses supply
the data, out of which there arises mere perception con-

198 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. il

fined to what is immediately present, does not suffice.
That complicated, many-sided, imaginative being, man,
with his many needs, and exposed as he is to innumerable
dangers, must, in order to exist, be lighted by a double
knowledge ; a higher power, as it were, of perceptive
knowledge must be given him, and also reason, as the
faculty of framing abstract conceptions. With this there
has appeared reflection, surveying the future and the past,
and, as a consequence, deliberation, care, the power of
premeditated action independent of the present, and
finally, the full and distinct consciousness of one's own
deliberate volition as such. Now if with mere know-
ledge of perception there arose the possibility of illusion
and deception, by which the previous infallibility of the
blind striving of will was done away with, so that mecha-
nical and other instincts, as expressions of unconscious
will, had to lend their help in the midst of those that
were conscious, with the entrance of reason that cer-
tainty and infallibility of the expressions of will (which
at the other extreme in unorganised nature appeared as
strict conformity to law) is almost entirely lost ; instinct
disappears altogether ; deliberation, which is supposed to
take the place of everything else, begets (as was shown
in the First Book) irresolution and uncertainty ; then
error becomes possible, and in many cases obstructs the
adequate objectification of the will in action. For although
in the character the will has already taken its definite
and unchangeable bent or direction, in accordance with
which volition, when occasioned by the presence of a motive,
invariably takes place, yet error can falsify its expressions,
for it introduces illusive motives that take the place of
the real ones which they resemble ; * as, for example,
when superstition forces on a man imaginary motives
which impel him to a course of action directly opposed

1 The Scholastics therefore said dum e$sc cor/nitum. Cf. Suarez, Disp.
very truly : Causa finalit movet non Metaph. disp. xxiii., sea 7 and 8.
icamdum suum esse reaXt, $ed secun-

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. 199

to the way in which the will would otherwise express
itself in the given circumstances. Agamemnon slays his
daughter ; a miser dispenses alms, out of pure egotism, in
the hope that he will some day receive an hundred-fold ;
and so on.

Thus knowledge generally, rational as well as merely
sensuous, proceeds originally from the will itself, belongs
to the inner being of the higher grades of its objectifica-
tion as a mere iiri^avq, a means of supporting the indivi-
dual and the species, just like any organ of the body.
Originally destined for the service of the will for the
accomplishment of its aims, it remains almost throughout
entirely subjected to its service : it is so in all brutes and
in almost all men. Yet we shall see in the Third Book
how in certain individual men knowledge can deliver
itself from this bondage, throw off its yoke, and, free from
all the aims of will, exist purely for itself, simply as a
clear mirror of the world, which is the source of art.
Finally, in the Fourth Book, we shall see how, if this
kind of knowledge reacts on the will, it can bring about
self-surrender, i.e., resignation, which is the final goal, and
indeed the inmost nature of all virtue and holiness, and
is deliverance from the world.

§ 28. We have considered the great multiplicity and
diversity of the phenomena in which the will objectifies
itself, and we have seen their endless and implacable
strife with each other. Yet, according to the whole dis-
cussion up to this point, the will itself, as thing-in-itself,
is by no means included in that multiplicity and change.
The diversity of the (Platonic) Ideas, i.e., grades of
objectification, the multitude of individuals in which
each of these expresses itself, the struggle of forms for
matter, — all this does not concern it, but is only the
manner of its objectification, and only through this has
an indirect relation to it, by virtue of which it belongs
to the expression of the nature of will for the idea. ^As
the magic-lantern shows many different pictures, which

200 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. ii.

are all made visible by one and the same light, so in
all the multifarious phenomena which fill the world toge-
ther or throng after each other as events, only one ivill
manifests itself, of which everything is the visibility, the
objectivity, and which remains unmoved in the midst of
this change; it alone is thing-in-itself ; all objects are
manifestations, or, to speak the language of Kant, pheno-
mena. Although in man, as (Platonic) Idea, the will
finds its clearest and fullest objectification, yet man
alone could not express its being. In order to manifest
the full significance of the will, the Idea of man would
need to appear, not alone and sundered from everything
else, but accompanied by the whole series of grades,
down through all the forms of animals, through the
vegetable kingdom to unorganised nature. All these
supplement each other in the complete objectification of
will ; they are as much presupposed by the Idea of man
as the blossoms of a tree presuppose leaves, branches,
stem, and root; they form a pyramid, of which man is
the apex. If fond of similes, one might also say that
their manifestations accompany that of man as neces-
sarily as the full daylight is accompanied by all the
gradations of twilight, through which, little by little, it
loses itself in darkness ; or one might call them the echo
of man, and say : Animal and plant are the descending
fifth and third of man, the inorganic kingdom is the lower
octave. The full truth of this last comparison will only
become clear to us when, in the following book, we
attempt to fathom the deep significance of music, and see
how a connected, progressive melody, made up of high,
quick notes, may be regarded as in some sense express-
ing the life and efforts of man connected by reflection,
while the unconnected complemental notes and the slow
bass, which make up the harmony necessary to perfect
the music, represent the rest of the animal kingdom and
the whole of nature that is without knowledge. But of
this in its own place, where it will not sound so para-

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. 201

doxical. We find, however, that the inner necessity of
the gradation of its manifestations, which is inseparable
from the adequate objectification of the will, is expressed
by an outer necessity in the whole of these manifestations
themselves, by reason of which man has need of the
beasts for his support, the beasts in their grades have
need of each other as well as of plants, which in their
turn require the ground, water, chemical elements and
their combinations, the planet, the sun, rotation and
motion round the sun, the curve of the ellipse, &c, &c.
At bottom this results from the fact that the will must
live on itself, for there exists nothing beside it, and it is
a hungry wilL Hence arise eager pursuit, anxiety, and
suffering.

It is only the knowledge of the unity of will as
thing-in-itself, in the endless diversity and multiplicity
of the phenomena, that can afford us the true explana-
tion of that wonderful, unmistakable analogy of all the
productions of nature, that family likeness on account of
which we may regard them as variations on the same
ungiven theme. So in like measure, through the distinct
and thoroughly comprehended knowledge of that har-
mony, that essential connection of all the parts of the
world, that necessity of their gradation which we have
just been considering, we shall obtain a true and suffi-
cient insight into the inner nature and meaning of the
undeniable teleology of all organised productions of nature,
which, indeed, we presupposed a priori, when consider-
ing and investigating them.

.Ihis, teleology is of a twofold description ; sometimes
an inner teleology, that is, an agreement of all the parts
of a particular organism, so ordered that the sustenance
of the individual and the species results from it, and
therefore presents itself as the end of that disposition or
arrangement. Sometimes, however, there is an outward
teleology, a relation of unorganised to organised nature in
general, or of particular parts of organised nature to each

202 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. ii.

other, which makes the maintenance of the whole of
organised nature, or of the particular animal species,
possible, and therefore presents itself to our judgment as
the means to this £ncj.

Inner teleology is connected with the scheme of our
work in the following way. If, in accordance with what
has been said, all variations of form in nature, and all
multiplicity of individuals, belong not to the will itself,
but merely to its objectivity and the form of this objec-
tivity, it necessarily follows that the will is indivisible
and is present as a whole in every manifestation, although
the grades of its objectification, the (Platonic) Ideas, are
very different from each other. We may, for the sake of
simplicity, regard these different Ideas as in themselves
individual and simple acts of the will, in which it ex-
presses its nature more or less. Individuals, however, are
again manifestations of the Ideas, thus of these acts, in
time, space, and multiplicity. Now, in the lowest grades
of objectivity, such an act (or an Idea) retains its unity
in the manifestation ; while, in order to appear in higher
grades, it requires a whole series of conditions and de-
velopments in time, which only collectively express its
nature completely. Thus, for example the Idea that
reveals itself in any general force of nature has always
one single expression, although it presents itself differently
according to the external relations that are present:
otherwise its identity could not be proved, for this is
done by abstracting the diversity that arises merely from
external relations. In the same way the crystal has only
one manifestation of life, crystallisation, which afterwards
has its fully adequate and exhaustive expression in the
rigid form, the corpse of that momentary life. The plant,
however, does not express the Idea, whose phenomenon
it is, at once and through a single manifestation, but in a
succession of developments of its organs in time. The
animal not only develops its organism in the same manner,
in a succession of forms which are often very different

THE 0BJECTIFICAT10N OF THE WILL. 203

(metamorphosis), but this form itself, although it is al-
ready objectivity of will at this grade, does not attain to
a full expression of its Idea. This expression must be
completed through the actions of the animal, in which
its empirical character, common to the whole species,
manifests itself, and only then does it become the full
revelation of the Idea, a revelation which presupposes
the particular organism as its first condition. In the case
of man, the empirical character is peculiar to every indivi-
dual (indeed, as we shall see in the Fourth Book, even to
the extent of supplanting entirely the character of the
species, through the self-surrender of the whole will).
That which is known as the empirical character, through
the necessary development in time, and the division into
particular actions that is conditioned by it, is, when we
abstract from this temporal form of the manifestation the
intelligible character, according to the expression of Kant,
who shows his undying merit especially in establishing
this distinction and explaining the relation between
freedom and necessity, i.e., between the will as thing-
in-itself and its manifestations in time.1 Thus the
intelligible character coincides with the Idea, or, more
accurately, with the original act of will which reveals
itself in it. So far then, not only the empirical
character of every man, but also that of every species
of animal and plant, and even of every original force
of unorganised nature, is to be regarded as the mani-
festation of an intelligible character, that is, of a time-
less, indivisible act of will. I should like here to draw
attention in passing to the naivete* with which every
plant expresses and lays open its whole character in its
mere form, reveals its whole being and will. This is

1 Cf. "Critique of Pure Reason, tique of Practical Reason," fourth

Solution of the Cosmological Ideas edition, pp. 169-179; Rosenkranz'

of the Totality of the Deduction of edition, p. 224 and following. Cf.

the Events in the Universe," pp. my Essay on the Principle of Sum-

560-586 of the fifth, and p. 532 and oient Reason, § 43.
following of first edition; and "Cri-

204 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. ii.

why the physiognomy of plants is so interesting ; while
in order to know an animal in its Idea, it is necessary
to observe the course of its action. As for man, he
must be fully investigated and tested, for reason makes
him capable of a high degree of dissimulation. The
beast is as much more naive than the man as the plant
is more naive than the beast. In the beast we see the
will to live more naked, as it were, than in the man, in
whom it is clothed with so much knowledge, and is,
moreover, so veiled through the capacity for dissimula-
tion, that it is almost only by chance, and here and
there, that its true nature becomes apparent. In the
plant it shows itself quite naked, but also much weaker,
as mere blind striving for existence without end or
aim. For the plant reveals its whole being at the first
glance, and with complete innocence, which does not
suffer from the fact that it carries its organs of genera-
tion exposed to view on its upper surface, though in all
animals they have been assigned to the most hidden
part. This innocence of the plant results from its com-
plete want of knowledge. Guilt does not lie in willing,
out in willing with knowledge. Every plant speaks to
us first of all of its home, of the climate, and the nature
of the ground in which it has grown. Therefore, even
those who have had little practice easily tell whether
an exotic plant belongs to the tropical or the temperate
zone, and whether it grows in water, in marshes, on
mountain, or on moorland. Besides this, however, every
plant expresses the special will of its species, and says
something that cannot be uttered in any other tongue.
But we must now apply what has been said to the
teleological consideration of the organism, so far as it
concerns its inner design. If in unorganised nature
the Idea, which is everywhere to be regarded as a single
act of will, reveals itself also in a single manifestation
which is always the same, and thus one may say that
here the empirical character directly partakes of the

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. 205

unity of the intelligible, coincides, as it were, with it, so
that no inner design can show itself here ; if, on the
contrary, all organisms express their Ideas through a
series of successive developments, conditioned by a
multiplicity of co-existing parts, and thus only the
sum of the manifestations of the empirical character
collectively constitute the expression of the intelli-
gible character ; this necessary co-existence of the
parts and succession of the stages of development
does not destroy the unity of the appearing Idea, the
act of will which expresses itself; nay, rather this
unity finds its expression in the necessary relation
and connection of the parts and stages of development
with each other, in accordance with the law of causality.
Since it is the will which is one, indivisible, and there-
fore entirely in harmony with itself, that reveals itself
in the whole Idea as in act, its manifestation, although
broken up into a number of different parts and condi-
tions, must yet show this unity again in the thorough
agreement of all of these. This is effected by a necessary
relation and dependence of all the parts upon each other,
by means of which the unity of the Idea is re-established
in the manifestation. In accordance with this, we now
recognise these different parts and functions of the
organism as related to each other reciprocally as means
and end, but the organism itself as the final end of all.
Consequently, neither the breaking up of the Idea, which
in itself is simple, into the multiplicity of the parts and
conditions of the organism, on the one hand, nor, on the
other hand, the re-establishment of its unity through the
necessary connection of the parts and functions which
arises from the fact that they are the cause and effect, the
means and end, of each other, is peculiar and essential
to the appearing will as such, to the thing-in-itself, but
only to its manifestation in space, time, and casuality
(mere modes of the principle of sufficient reason, the
form of the phenomenon). They belong to the world as

2o6 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. ii

idea, not to the world as will; they belong to the way
in which the will becomes object, i.e., idea at this grade
of its objectivity. Every one who has grasped the mean-
ing of this discussion — a discussion which is perhaps
somewhat difficult— will now fully understand the doctrine
of Kant, which follows from it, that both the design of
organised and the conformity to law of unorganised
nature are only introduced by our understanding, and
therefore both belong only to the phenomenon, not to the
thing-in-itself. The surprise, which was referred to
above, at the infallible constancy of the conformity to
law of unorganised nature, is essentially the same as the
surprise that is excited by design in organised nature ;
for in both cases what we wonder at is only the sight of
the original unity of the Idea, which, for the phenome-
non, has assumed the form of multiplicity and diversity.1
As regards the second kind of teleology, according to
the division made above, the outer design, which shows
itself, not in the inner economy of the organisms, but in
the support and assistance they receive from without,
both from unorganised nature and from each other; its
general explanation is to be found in the exposition we
have just given. For the whole world, with all its phe-
nomena, is the objectivity of the one indivisible will, the
Idea, which is related to all other Ideas as harmony is
related to the single voice. Therefore that unity of the
will must show itself also in the agreement of all its
manifestations. But we can very much increase the
clearness of this insight if we go somewhat more closely
into the manifestations of that outer teleology and agree-
ment of the different parts of nature with each other, an
inquiry which will also throw some light on the foregoing
exposition. We shall best attain this end by consider-
ing the following analogy.

The character of each individual man, so far as it is

« Cf. "Ueber den Willen in der Natur," at the end of the section on
Comparative Anatomy.

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. 707

thoroughly individual, and not entirely included in that
of the species, may be regarded as a special Idea, corre-
sponding to a special act of the objectification of will.
This act itself would then be his intelligible character,
and his empirical character would be the manifestation of
it. The empirical character is entirely determined through
the intelligible, which is without ground, i.e., as thing-in-
itself is not subordinated to the principle of sufficient
reason (the form of the phenomenon). The empirical char-
acter must in the course of life afford us the express image
of the intelligible, and can only become what the nature of
the latter demands. But this property extends only to the
essential, not to the unessential in the course of life to
which it applies. To this unessential belong the de-
tailed events and actions which are the material in which
the empirical character shows itself. These are deter-
mined by outward circumstances, which present the
motives upon which the character reacts according to its
nature ; and as they may be very different, the outward
form of the manifestation of the empirical character, that
is, the definite actual or historical form of the course of
life, will have to accommodate itself to their influence.
Now this form may be very different, although what is
essential to the manifestation, its content, remains the
same. Thus, for example it is immaterial whether a man
plays for nuts or for crowns ; but whether a man cheats
or plays fairly, that is the real matter ; the latter is de-
termined by the intelligible character, the former by
outward circumstances. As the same theme may be
expressed in a hundred different variations, so the same
character may be expressed in a hundred very different lives.
But various as the outward influence may be, the empi-
rical character which expresses itself in the course of life
must yet, whatever form it takes, accurately objectify
the intelligible character, for the latter adapts its objec-
tification to the given material of actual circumstances.
We have now to assume something analogous to the

2o8 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. ii.

influence of outward circumstances upon the life that is
determined in essential matters by the character, if we
desire to understand how the will, in the original act of
its objectification, determines the various Ideas in which
it objectifies itself, that is, the different forms of natural
existence of every kind, among which it distributes its
objectification, and which must therefore necessarily have
a relation to each other in the manifestation. We must
assume that between all these manifestations offlie one
will there existed a universal and reciprocal adaptation
and accommodation of themselves to each other, by which,
however, as we shall soon see more clearly, all time-
determination is to be excluded, for the Idea lies outside
time. In accordance with this, every manifestation must
have adapted itself to the surroundings into which it en-
tered, and these again must have adapted themselves to it,
although it occupied a much later position in time ; and we
see this consensus natures everywhere. Every plant is there-
fore adapted to its soil and climate, every animal to its
element and the prey that will be its food, and is also in
some way protected, to a certain extent, against its natural
enemy ; the eye is adapted to the light and its refrangi-
bility, the lungs and the blood to the air, the air-bladder
of fish to water, the eye of the seal to the change of the
medium in which it must see, the water-pouch in the
stomach of the camel to the drought of the African
deserts, the sail of the nautilus to the wind that is to
drive its little bark, and so on down to the most special
and astonishing outward adaptations.1 We must abstract
however here from all temporal relations, for these can
only concern the manifestation of the Idea, not the Idea
itself. Accordingly this kind of explanation must also
be used retrospectively, and we must not merely admit
that every species accommodated itself to the given en-
vironment, but also that this environment itself, which
preceded it in time, had just as much regard for the being

1 Cf. "Ueber den Willen in die Natur," the section on Comparative
Anatomy.

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. 209

that would some time come into it. For it is one and
the same will that objectifies itself in the whole world;
it knows no time, for this form of the principle of suffi-
cient reason does not belong to it, nor to its original
objectivity, the Ideas, but only to the way in which
these are known by the individuals who themselves are
transitory, i.e.t to the manifestation of the Ideas. Thus,
time has no significance for our present examination of
the manner in which the objectification of the will dis-
tributes itself among the Ideas, and the Ideas whose
manifestations entered into the course of time earlier,
according to the law of causality, to which as phenomena
they are subject, have no advantage over those whose
manifestation entered later ; nay rather, these last are the
completest objectifications of the will, to which the earlier
manifestations must adapt themselves just as much as
they must adapt themselves to the earlier. Thus the
course of the planets, the tendency to the ellipse, the
rotation of the earth, the division of land and sea, the
atmosphere, light, warmth, and all such phenomena,
which are in nature what bass is in harmony, adapted
themselves in anticipation of the coming species of
living creatures of which they were to become the
supporter and sustainer. In the same way the ground
adapted itself to the nutrition of plants, plants adapted
themselves to the nutrition of animals, animals to that
of other animals, and conversely they all adapted them-
selves to the nutrition of the ground. All the parts of
nature correspond to each other, for it is one will that
appears in them all, but the course of time is quite
foreign to its original and only adequate objectification
(this expression will be explained in the following book),
the Ideas. Even now, when the species have only to
sustain themselves, no longer to come into existence, we
see here and there some such forethought of nature ex-
tending to the future, and abstracting as it were from
the process of time, a self- adaptation of what is to what
vol. L 0

210 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. il

is yet to come. The bird builds the nest for the young
which it does not yet know ; the beaver constructs a
dam the object of which is unknown to it ; ants, mar-
mots, and bees lay in provision for the winter they have
never experienced ; the spider and the ant-lion make
snares, as if with deliberate cunning, for future unknown
prey ; insects deposit their eggs where the coming brood
finds future nourishment. In the spring-time the female
flower of the dicecian valisneria unwinds the spirals of its
stalk, by which till now it was held at the bottom of the
water, and thus rises to the surface. Just then the male
flower, which grows on a short stalk from the bottom,
breaks away, and so, at the sacrifice of its life, reaches
the surface, where it swims about in search of the female.
The latter is fructified, and then draws itself down again
to the bottom by contracting its spirals, and there the
fruit grows.1 I must again refer here to the larva of the
male stag-beetle, which makes the hole in the wood for
its metamorphosis as big again as the female does, in
order to have room for its future horns. The instinct of
animals in general gives us the best illustration of what
remains of teleology in nature. For as instinct is an
action, like that which is guided by the conception of an
end, and yet is entirely without this ; so all construction
of nature resembles that which is guided by the concep-
tion of an end, and yet is entirely without it. For in
the outer as in the inner teleology of nature, what we
are obliged to think as means and end is, in every case,
the manifestation of the unity of the one will so thoroughly
agreeing with itself, which has assumed multiplicity in
space and time for our manner of knowing.

The reciprocal adaptation and self-accommodation of
phenomena that springs from this unity cannot, however,
annul the inner contradiction which appears in the
universal conflict of nature described above, and which

1 Chatin, Sur la Valisneria Spiralis, in the Oomptes Rendus de l'Acad.
de Sc., No. 13, 1855.

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. 211

is essential to the will. That harmony goes only so fai
as to render possible the duration of the world and the
different kinds of existences in it, which without it
would long since have perished. Therefore it only ex-
tends to the continuance of the species, and the general
conditions of life, but not to that of the individual. If,
then, by reason of that harmony and accommodation, the
species in organised nature and the universal forces in
unorganised nature continue to exist beside each other,
and indeed support each other reciprocally, on the other
hand, the inner contradiction of the will which objectifies
itself in all these ideas shows itself in the ceaseless inter-
necine war of the individuals of these species, and in the
constant struggle of the manifestations of these natural forces
with each other, as we pointed out above. The scene and
the object of this conflict is matter, which they try to wrest
from each other, and also space and time, the combination
of which through the form of causality is, in fact, matter,
as was explained in the First Book.1

§ 29. I here conclude the second principal division of
my exposition, in the hope that, so far as is possible in
the case of an entirely new thought, which cannot be
quite free from traces of the individuality in which it
originated, I have succeeded in conveying to the reader
the complete certainty that this world in which we live
and have our being is in its whole nature through and
through will, and at the same time through and through
idea : that this idea, as such, already presupposes a form,
object and subject, is therefore relative; and if we ask
what remains if we take away this form, and all those
forms which are subordinate to it, and which express the
principle of sufficient reason, the answer must be that as
something Mo genere different from idea, this can be
nothing but will, which is thus properly the thing-in-
itself Every one finds that he himself is this will, in
which the real nature of the world consists, and he also

1 Cf. Chaps. xxvi. and xxvii. of the Supplement.

2I2 THE WORLD AS WILL. BK. II.

finds that he is the knowing subject, whose idea the
whole world is, the world which exists only in relation
to his consciousness, as its necessary supporter. Every
one is thus himself in a double aspect the whole world,
the microcosm; finds both sides whole and complete
in himself. And what he thus recognises as his own
real being also exhausts the being of the whole world—
the macrocosm ; thus the world, like man, is through
and through vrill, and through and through idea, and
nothing more than this. So we see the philosophy of
Thales, which concerned the macrocosm, unite at this
point with that of Socrates, which dealt with the micro-
cosm, for the object of both is found to be the same. But
all the knowledge that has been communicated in the
two first books will gain greater completeness, and con-
sequently greater certainty, from the two following books,
in which I hope that several questions that have more
or less distinctly arisen in the course of our work will
also be sufficiently answered.

In the meantime one such question may be more particu-
larly considered, for it can only properly arise so long as
one has not fully penetrated the meaning of the foregoing
exposition, and may so far serve as an illustration of it
It is this : Every will is a will towards something, has
an object, an end of its willing ; what then is the final
end, or towards what is that will striving that is ex-
hibited to us as the being-in-itself of the world ? This
question rests, like so many others, upon the confusion
of the thing-in-itself with the manifestation. The prin-
ciple of sufficient reason, of which the law of motivation
is also a form, extends only to the latter, not to the
former. It is only of phenomena, of individual things,
that a ground can be given, never of the will itself, nor
of the Idea in which it adequately objectifies itself. So
then of every particular movement or change of any
kind in nature, a cause is to be sought, that is, a condi-
tion that of necessity produced it, but never of the

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. 213

natural force itself which is revealed in this and in-
numerable similar phenomena ; and it is therefore simple
misunderstanding, arising from want of consideration, to
ask for a cause of gravity, electricity, and so on. Only
if one had somehow shown that gravity and electricity were
not original special forces of nature, but only the mani-
festations of a more general force already known, would
it be allowable to ask for the cause which made this force
produce the phenomena of gravity or of electricity here.
All this has been explained at length above. In the
same way every particular act of will of a knowing
individual (which is itself only a manifestation of will as
the thing-in-itself) has necessarily a motive without which
that act would never have occurred ; but just as material
causes contain merely the determination that at this time,
in this place, and in this matter, a manifestation of this 01
that natural force must take place, so the motive detery
mines only the act of will of a knowing being, at this
time, in this place, and under these circumstances, as a
particular act, but by no means determines that that
t>eing wills in general or wills in this manner; this is
the expression of his intelligible character, which, as will
itself, the thing-in-itself, is without ground, for it lies
outside the province of the principle of sufficient reason.
Therefore every man has permanent aims and motivestry
which he guides his conduct, and he can always give an
account of his particular actions; but if he were asked
why he wills at all, or why in general he wills to exist,
he would have no answer, and the question would indeed
seem to him meaningless ;% and this would be just the ex-
pression of his consciousness that he himself is nothing
but will, whose willing stands by itself and requires more
particular determination by motives only in its individual
acts at each point of time.

In fact, freedom from all aim, from all limits, belongs
o the nature of the will, which is an endless striving.
This was already touched on above in the reference to

Ho\

214 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. II.

centrifugal force. It also discloses itself in its simplest
form in the lowest grade of the objectification of will, in
gravitation, which we see constantly exerting itself,
though a final goal is obviously impossible for it. For
if, according to its will, all existing matter were collected
in one mass, yet within this mass gravity, ever striving
towards the centre, would still wage war with impene-
trability as rigidity or elasticity. The tendency of
matter can therefore only be confined, never completed
or appeased. But this is precisely the case with all
tendencies of all phenomena of will. Every attained
end is also the beginning of a new course, and so on ad
infinitum. The plant raises its manifestation from the
seed through the stem and the leaf to the blossom and the
fruit, which again is the beginning of a new seed, a new
individual, that runs through the old course, and so on
through endless time. Such also is the life of the
animal ; procreation is its highest point, and after attain-
ing to it, the life of the first individual quickly or
slowly sinks, while a new life ensures to nature the
endurance of the species and repeats the same pheno-
mena. Indeed, the constant renewal of the matter of
every organism is also to be regarded as merely the
manifestation of this continual pressure and change, and
physiologists are now ceasing to hold that it is the neces-
sary reparation of the matter wasted in motion, for the
possible wearing out of the machine can by no means
be equivalent to the support it is constantly receiving
through nourishment. .Eternal becoming, endless flux*/
characterises the revelation of the inner nature of will
Finally, the same thing shows itself in human endeavours
and desires, which always delude us by presenting their
v satisfaction as the final end of will. As soon as we
attain to them they no longer appear the same, and
therefore they soon grow stale, are forgotten, and though
not openly disowned, are yet always thrown aside as
vanished illusions. We are fortunate enough if there

THE OBJECTIFICATION OF THE WILL. 21 J

still remains something to wish for and to strive after,
that the game may be kept up of constant transition
from desire to satisfaction, and from satisfaction to a
new desire, the rapid course of which is called happiness,
and the slow course sorrow, and does not sink into that
stagnation that shows itself in fearful ennui that paralyses
life, vain yearning without a definite object, deadening
languor. ^According to all this, when the will is en-
lightened by knowledge, it always knows what it wilty^
now and here, never what it wills in general ; every
^particular act of will has its end, the whole will has
none ; just as every particular phenomenon of nature is
determined by a sufficient cause so far as concerns its
appearance in this place at this time, but the force which
manifests itself in it has no general cause, for it belongs
to the thing-in-itself, to the groundless will. The single
example of self-knowledge of the will as a whole is the
idea as a whole, the whole world of perception. It is
the objectification, the revelation, the mirror of the will
What the will expresses in it will be the subject of oui
further consideration.1

1 Of. Chap, xxviii. of the Supplement.

THE WORLD AS IDEA.

SECOND ASPECT.

THE IDEA INDEPENDENT OP THE PRINCIPLE OF SUFFICIENT
REASON : THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART.

Tl rb 6r fikv del, yheaiv <5e oik ?xov \ Ka^ T^ T0 ytypouevov p.h ko)
airoWvfxcvov, dVrws de ovMttot€ 6v. — IIAATOJJ

( 219 )

in.

§ 30. In the First Book the world was explained as
v/inere idea, object for a subject. In the Second Book we
considered it from its other side, and found that in this
aspect it is will, which proved to be simply that which
this world is besides being idea. In accordance with;
this knowledge we called the world as idea, both as a
whole and in its parts, the dbjectification of will, which
therefore means the will become object, i.e., idea.
Further, we remember that this objectification of will
was found to have many definite grades, in which, with
gradually increasing distinctness and completeness, the
nature of will appears in the idea, that is to say, presents
itself as object. In these grades we already recognised
the Platonic Ideas, for the grades are just the determined
species, or the original unchanging forms and qualities of
all natural bodies, both organised and unorganised, and
also the general forces which reveal themselves according
to natural laws. These Ideas, then, as a whole express
themselves in innumerable individuals and particulars,
"and are related to these as archetypes to their copies.
The multiplicity of such individuals is only conceivable
through time and space, their appearing and passing
away through causality, and in all these forms we recog-
nise merely the different modes of thfi piw-ip1* nf
sufficient reason, which i«JJ2fl n1t.ima.te principle of all
that is finite, of all individual existence, and the univer-
sal form of the idea as it appears in the knowledge of
the individual as such. The Platonic Idea, on the other

220 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. HL

y hand, does not come under this principle, and has there-
fore neither multiplicity nor change. While the indi-
viduals in which it expresses itself are innumerable, and
unceasingly come into being and pass away, it remains
unchanged as one and the same, and the principle of
sufficient reason has for it no meaning. As, however,
K/hisMs the form under which all knowledge of the subject
comes, so far as the subject knows as an individual, the
Ideas lie quite outside the sphere of its knowledge. If,

(therefore, the Ideas are to become objects of knowledge,
this can only happen by transcending the individuality
of the knowing subject. The more exact and detailed
explanation of this is what will now occupy our atten-
tion.

§ 31. First, however, the following very essential
remark. I hope that in the preceding book I have
succeeded in producing the conviction that what is called
in the Kantian philosophy the thing-in-itself, and appears
there as so significant, and yet so obscure and paradoxi-
cal a doctrine, and especially on account of the manner
in which Kant introduced it as an inference from the
caused to the cause, was considered a stumbling-stone,
and, in fact, the weak side of his philosophy, — that this, I
say, if it is reached by the entirely different way by
which we have arrived at it, is nothing but the will
when the sphere of that conception is extended and
defined in the way I have shown. I hope, further, that
after what has been said there will be no hesitation in
recognising the definite grades of the objectification of
the will, winch is the inner reality of the world, to be
what Plato called the eternal Ideas or unchangeable forms
(ei&rf) ; a doctrine which is regarded as the principal, but
at the same time the most obscure and paradoxical
dogma of his system, and has been the subject of reflec-
tion and controversy of ridicule and of reverence to so
many and such differently endowed minds in the course
of many centuries.

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 221

If now the will is for us the thing-in-itself, and the Idea
is the immediate objectivity of that will at a definite grade,
we find that Kant's thing-in-itself, and Plato's Idea, which
to him is the only oz/tw? ov, these two great obscure para-
doxes of the two greatest philosophers of the West are not
indeed identical, but yet very closely related, and only
distinguished by a single circumstance. The purport of
these two great paradoxes, with all inner harmony and
relationship, is yet so very different on account of the
remarkable diversity of the individuality of their authors,
that they are the best commentary on each other, for
they are like two entirely different roads that conduct us
to the same goal. This is easily made clear. What
Kant says is in substance this : — " Time, space, and
causality are not determinations of the thing-in-itself, but
belong only to its phenomenal existence, for they are
nothing but the forms of our knowledge. Since, how-
ever, all multiplicity, and all coming into being and
passing away, are only possible through time, space, and
causality, it follows that they also belong only to the
phenomenon, not to the thing-in-itself. But as our
knowledge is conditioned by these forms, the whole of
experience is only knowledge of the phenomenon, not of
the thing-in-itself; therefore its laws cannot be made
valid for the thing-in-itself. This extends even to
our own ego, and we know it only as phenomenon, and
not according to what it may be in itself." Tliis is
the meaning and content of the doctrine of Kant in the
important respect we are considering. What Plato says
is this: — "The things of this world which our senses
perceive have no true being; they always become, they
never are: they have only a relative being; they all
exist merely in and through their relations to each other ;
their whole being may, therefore, quite as well be called
a non-being. They are consequently not objects of a true
knowledge (eTnGTrmrj), for such a knowledge can only be
of what exists for itself, and always in the same way ;

222 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. hi.

they, on the contrary, are only the objects of an opinion
based on sensation (Soga fier aiadrjaeax; aXoyov). So
long as we are confined to the perception of these, we are
like men who sit in a dark cave, bound so fast that they
cannot turn their heads, and who see nothing but the
shadows of real things which pass between them and a
fire burning behind them, the light of which casts the
shadows on the wall opposite them ; and even of them-
selves nnd of each other they see only the shadows on
the walL Their wisdom would thus consist in predicting
the order of the shadows learned from experience. The
real archetypes, on the other hand, to which these
shadows correspond, the eternal Ideas, the original forms
of all things, can alone be said to have true being (ovrovi
op), because they always are, but never become nor pass
away. To them belongs no multiplicity ; for each of
them is according to its nature only one, for it is the
archetype itself, of which all particular transitory
things of the same kind which are named after it are
copies or shadows. They have also no coming into being
nor 'passing away, for they are truly being, never becom-
ing nor vanishing, like their fleeting shadows. (It is
necessarily presupposed, however, in these two negative
definitions, that time, space, and casuality have no signi-
ficance or validity for these Ideas, and that they do not
exist in them.) Of these only can there be true know-
ledge, for the object of such knowledge can only be that
which always and in every respect (thus in-itself) is ; not
that which is and again is not, according as we look at
it." This is Plato's doctrine. It is clear, and requires
no further proof that the inner meaning of both doctrines
is entirely the same ; that both explain the visible world
as a manifestation, which in itself is nothing, and which
only has meaning and a borrowed reality through that
which expresses itself in it (in the one case the thing-in-
self, in the other the Idea). To this last, which has°true
being, all the forms of that phenomenal existence, even

THE PLATONIC IDEA: THE OBJECT OF ART. 22I

the most universal and essential, are, according to both
doctrines, entirely foreign. In order to disown these
forms Kant has directly expressed them even in abstract
terms, and distinctly refused time, space, and casuality as
mere forms of the phenomenon to the thing-in-itself.
Plato, on the other hand, did not attain to the fullest
expression, and has only distinctly refused these forms to
his Ideas in that he denies of the Ideas what is only
possible through these forms, multiplicity of similar
things, coming into being and passing away. Though
it is perhaps superfluous, I should like to illustrate this
remarkable and important agreement by an example.
There stands before us, let us suppose, an animal in the
full activity of life. Plato would say, " This animal has
no true existence, but merely an apparent existence, a
constant becoming, a relative existence which may just
as well be called non-being as being. Only the Idea
which expresses itself in that animal is truly ' being/ or
the animal in-itself {clvto to OrjpLov), which is dependent
upon nothing, but is in and for itself (ica& eavro, aei a>?
avTwi) ; it has not become, it will not end, but always is
in the same way (aei ov, kcli fju^eirore oure ytyvo/jLevov
ovre cLTroXkvjjLevov). If now we recognise its Idea in this
animal, it is all one and of no importance whether we
have this animal now before us or its progenitor of a
thousand years ago, whether it is here or in a distant
land, whether it presents itself in this or that manner,
position, or action ; whether, lastly, it is this or any other
individual of the same species ; all this is nothing, and
only concerns the phenomenon; the Idea of the animal
alone has true being, and is the object of real knowledge."
So Plato ; Kant would say something of this kind, " This
animal is a phenomenon in time, space, and casuality,
which are collectively the conditions a priori of the possi-
bility of experience, lying in our faculty of knowledge,
not determinations of the thing-in-itsef. Therefore this
animal as we perceive it at this definite point of time, in

224 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. iil

this particular place, as an individual in the connection
of experience (i.e.t in the chain of causes and effects),
which has come into being, and will just as necessarily
pass away, is not a thing-in-itself, but a phenomenon
which only exists in relation to our knowledge. To
know it as what it may be in itself, that is to say, inde-
pendent of all the determinations which lie in time, space,
and casuality, would demand another kind of knowledge
than that which is possible for us through the senses and
the understanding."

In order to bring Kant's mode of expression nearer
the Platonic, we might say : Time, space, and causality are
that arrangement of our intellect by virtue of which the
one being of each kind which alone really is, manifests
itself to us as a multiplicity of similar beings, constantly
appearing and disappearing in endless succession. The
apprehension of things by means of and in accordance
with this arrangement is immanent knowledge ; that, on
the other hand, which is conscious of the true state of
the case, is transcendental knowledge. The latter is
obtained in abstracto through the criticism of pure reason,
but in exceptional cases it may also appear intuitively.
This last is an addition of my own, which I am endeavour-
ing in this Third Book to explain.

If the doctrine of Kant had ever been properly under-
stood and grasped, and since Kant's time that of Plato,
if men had truly and earnestly reflected on the inner
meaning and content of the teaching of these two great
masters, instead of involving themselves in the techni-
calities of the one and writing parodies of the style of
the other, they could not have failed to discern long
ago to what an extent these two great philosophers
agree, and that the true meaning, the aim of both
systems, is the same. Not only would they have
refrained from constantly comparing Plato to Leibnitz,
on whom his spirit certainly did not rest, or indeed to a

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 225

well-known gentleman who is still alive,1 as if they wanted
to mock the manes of the great thinker of the past ; but
they would have advanced much farther in general, or
rather they would not have fallen so disgracefully far
behind as they have in the last forty years. They
would not have let themselves be led by the nose, to-day
by one vain boaster and to-morrow by another, nor would
they have opened the nineteenth century, which promised
so much in Germany, with the philosophical farces that
were performed over the grave of Kant (as the ancients
sometimes did at the funeral obsequies of their dead),
and which deservedly called forth the derision of other
nations, for such things least become the earnest and
strait-laced German. But so small is the chosen public
of true philosophers, that even students who understand
are but scantily brought them by the centuries — Eiai Brj
vap07]KO(f)opoi fjuev 7ro\Xot, /3a/c%ot Se ye iravpou (Thyrsigeri
quidem multi, Bacchi vero pauci). 'H arifiia cf)i\ocro(f>iq
Bia ravra irpoaTreTTTCoKev, oti ov /car a^iav auT^? dirTOvrai,'
ov yap voOov? eBet dirTeadcu, aWa yvrjcriovs (Earn oh rem
philosop/iia in infamiam incidit, quod non pro dignitate
ipsam attingunt : neque enim a spuriis, sed a legitimes erat
attrectanda). — Plato.

Men followed the words, — such words as "a priori
ideas," " forms of perception and thought existing in con-
sciousness independently of experience," " fundamental
conceptions of the pure understanding," &c, &c, — and
asked whether Plato's Ideas, which were also original
conceptions, and besides this were supposed to be remi-
niscences of a perception before life of the truly real
things, were in some way the same as Kant's forms of
perception and thought, which lie a priori in our conscious-
ness. On account of some slight resemblance in the expres-
sion of these two entirely different doctrines, the Kantian
doctrine of the forms which limit the knowledge of the
individual to the phenomenon, and the Platonic doctrine

1 F. H. J*cobi.
VOL. I. P

226 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. in.

of Ideas, the knowledge of which these very forms ex-
pressly deny, these so far diametrically opposed doctrines
were carefully compared, and men deliberated and dis-
puted as to whether they were identical, found at last
that they were not the same, and concluded that Plato's
doctrine of Ideas and Kant's " Critique of Reason " had
nothing in common. But enough of this.1

§ 32. It follows from our consideration of the sub-
ject, that, for us, Idea and thing-in-itself are not entirely
one and the same, in spite of the inner agreement be-
tween Kant and Plato, and the identity of the aim they
had before them, or the conception of the world which
roused them and led them to philosophise. The Idea is
for us rather the direct, and therefore adequate, objec-
tivity of the thing-in-itself, which is, however, itself the
will — the will as not yet objectified, not yet become idea.
For the thing-in-itself must, even according to Kant, be
free from all the forms connected with knowing as such ;
and it is merely an error on his part (as is shown in the
Appendix) that he did not count among these forms,
before all others, that of being object for a subject, for
it is the first and most universal form of all phenomena,
i.e., of all idea; he should therefore have distinctly
denied objective existence to his thing-in-itself, which
would have saved him from a great inconsistency that
was soon discovered. The Platonic Idea, on the other
hand, is necessarily object, something known, an idea,
and in that respect is different from the thing-in-itself,
but in that respect only. It has merely laid aside the
subordinate forms of the phenomenon, all of which we
include in the principle of sufficient reason, or rather
it has not yet assumed them ; but it has retained the
first and most universal form, that of the idea in general,
the form of being object for a subject. It is the forms

1 See for example, "Immanuel of Philosophy," vol vi. pp. S02-815
Kant, a Reminiscence, by Fr. Bouter- and 823.
week," p. 49, ana Buhle's "History

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 227

which are subordinate to this (whose general expression
is the principle of sufficient reason) that multiply the
Idea in particular transitory individuals, whose number
is a matter of complete indifference to the Idea. The
principle of sufficient reason is thus again the form into
which the Idea enters when it appears in the knowledge
of the subject as individual. The particular thing that
manifests itself in accordance with the principle of suffi-
cient reason is thus only an indirect objectification of
the thing-in-itself (which is the will), for between it and
the thing-in-itself stands the Idea as the only direct
objectivity of the will, because it has assumed none of
the special forms of knowledge as such, except that of
the idea in general, i.e., the form of being object for a
subject. Therefore it alone is the most adequate objectivity
of the will or thing-in-itself which is possible ; indeed it
is the whole thing-in-itself, only under the form of the
idea ; and here lies the ground of the great agreement
between Plato and Kant, although, in strict accuracy,
that of which they speak is not the same. But the par-
ticular things are no really adequate objectivity of the
will, for in them it is obscured by those forms whose
general expression is the principle of sufficient reason,
but which are conditions of the knowledge which belongs
to the individual as such. If it is allowable to »draw
conclusions from an impossible presupposition, we would,
in fact, no longer know particular things, nor events, nor
change, nor multiplicity, but would comprehend only
Ideas, — only the grades of the objectification of that one
will, of the thing-in-itself, in pure unclouded knowledge.
Consequently our world would be a nunc stans, if it
were not that, as knowing subjects, we are also indivi-
duals, i.e., our perceptions come to us through the medium
of a body, from the affections of which they proceed, and
which is itself only concrete willing, objectivity of the
will, and thus is an object among objects, and as such
comes into the knowing consciousness in the only way in

228 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. m.

which an object can, through the forms of the principle
of sufficient reason, and consequently already presupposes,
and therefore brings in, time, and all other forms which that
principle expresses. Time is only the broken and piecemeal
view which the individual being has of the Ideas, which
are outside time, and consequently eternal. Therefore
Plato says time is the moving picture of eternity : auovo?
euccov Kivryrq 6 ^/xwo?.1 '

§ 33. Since now, as individuals, we have no other
knowledge than that which is subject to the principle of
sufficient reason, and this form of knowledge excludes
the Ideas, it is certain that if it is possible for us to
raise ourselves from the knowledge of particular things
to that of the Ideas, this can only happen by an altera-
tion taking place in the subject which is analogous and
corresponds to the great change of the whole nature of
the object, and by virtue of which the subject, so far as
it knows an Idea, is no more individual

It will be remembered from the preceding book that
knowledge in gen£rM,J3filomis_to the objectification of
will at its higher_jp:ades, and sensibility, nerves, and
brain, just like the other parts of the organised being,
are the expression of the will at this stage of its ob-
jectivity, and therefore the idea which appears through
them is also in the same way bound to the service of
will as a means (jirj^avrj) for the attainment of its now
complicated (TroXvreXecrTepa) aims for sustaining a being
of manifold requirements. Thus originally and according
to its nature, knowledge is completely subject to the will,
and, like the immediate object, which, by means of the
application of the law of causality, is its starting-point,
all knowledge which proceeds in accordance with the
principle of sufficient reason remains in a closer or
more distant relation to the will. For the individual
finds his body as an object among objects, to all of which
it is related and connected according to the principle

1 Cf. Chap. xxix. of Supplement

THE PLATONIC IDEA: THE OBJECT OF ART. 229

of sufficient reason. Thus all investigations of these
relations and connections lead back to his body, and
consequently to his will. Since it is the principle oi
sufficient reason which places the objects in this relation
to the body, and, through it, to the will, the one endea-
vour of the knowledge which is subject to this principle
will be to find out the relations in which objects are
placed to each other through this principle, and thus to
trace their innumerable connections in space, time, and
causality. For only through these is the object interest-
ing to the individual, i.e.t related to the will Therefore
the knowledge which is subject to the will knows nothing s\
further of objects than their relations, knows the objects I
only so far as they exist at this time, in this place, under
these circumstances, from these causes, and with these
effects — in a word, as particular things ; and if all these
relations were to be taken away, the objects would also
have disappeared for it, because it knew nothing more
about them. We must not disguise the fact that wjiat r
the sciences_ consider. in_ ...things is ajgo ln rfia1lty ""thing I
more than this ; their relations, the connections of time I
and space, the causes of natural changes, the resemblance
of forms, the motives of actions, — thus merely relations.
What distinguishes science from ordinary knowledge is
merely its systematic form, the facilitating of knowledge
by the comprehension of all particulars in the universal,
by means of the subordination of concepts, and the com-
pleteness of knowledge which is thereby attained. /*^A1L
relation has itself only a relative existence ; for example,
all being in time is also non-being; for time is only that
by means of adiich opposite determinations can belong
to the same thing ; therefore every phenomenon which
is in time again is not, for what separates its beginning
from its end is only time, which is essentially a fleeting,
inconstant, and relative thing, here called duration. But
time is the most universal form of all objects of the

a3o

THE WORLD AS IDEA. BK. HL

knowledge which is subject to the will, and the proto-
type of its other forms.

Knowledge now, as a rule, remains always subordi-
nate to the service of the will, as indeed it originated for
this service, and grew, so to speak, to the will, as the
head to the body. In the case of the brutes this subjec-
tion of knowledge to the will can never be abolished. In
the case of men it can be abolished only in exceptional
cases, which we shall presently consider more closely.
This distinction between man and brute is outwardly
expressed by the difference of the relation of the head to
the body. In the case of the lower brutes both are
deformed : in all brutes the head is directed towards the
earth, where the objects of its will lie; even in the
higher species the head and the body are still far more
one than in the case of man, whose head seems freely
set upon his body, as if only carried by and not serving
it. This human excellence is exhibited in the highest
degree by the Apollo of Belvedere ; the head of the god
of the Muses, with eyes fixed on the far distance, stands
so freely on his shoulders that it seems wholly delivered
from the body, and no more subject to its cares.

§ 34. The transition which we have referred to as
possible, but yet to be regarded as only exceptional, from
the common knowledge of particular tilings to the know-
ledge of the Idea, takes place suddenly ; for knowledge
breaks free from the service of the will, by the subject
ceasing to be merely individual, and thus becoming the
pure will-less subject of knowledge, which no longer traces
relations in accordance with the principle of sufhcient
reason, but rests in fixed contemplation of the object
1 presented to it, out of its connection with all others, and
\ rises into it.

A lull explanation is necessary to make this clear, and
the reader must suspend his surprise for a while, till he
has grasped the whole thought expressed in this work,
and then it will vanish of itself.

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 231

'/if, raised by the power of the mind, a man relinquishes
the common way of looking at things, gives up tracing,
under the guidance of the forms of the principle of sufficient
reason, their relations to each other, the final goal of which
is always a relation to his own will ; if he thus ceases to
consider the where, the when, the why, and the whither
of things, and looks simply and solely at the what ; if,
further, he does not allow abstract thought, the concepts
of the reason, to take possession of his consciousness,
but, instead of all this, gives the whole power of his mind
to perception, sinks himself entirely in this, and lets his
whole consciousness be filled with {3hft qm'ftti con tempi a-
tJTgLilLtftp- natauaJ ohjp.ot actually prf,fip,nt. whether a
landscape, a tree, a mountain, a building, or whatever it
may be ; inasmuch as he loses himself in this object (to use
a pregnant German idiom), i.e., forgets even his indivi-
duality, his will, and only continues to exist as the pure

subject, the clear mirror of . the ^object, so that it is as if

tne object alone were there, without any one to perceive
it, and he can no longer separate the perceiver from the
perception, but both have become one, because the whole
consciousness is filled and occupied with one single sen-
suous picture; if thus the object has to such an extent
passed out of all relation to something outside.it, and the
subject out of all relation^ thft will, then that which is
so known is no longer the particular thing as such ; but
it is the Idea, the eternal form, the immediate objectivity
of the will at this grade ; and, therefore, he who is sunk
in this perception is no longer individual, for in such
perception the individual has lost himself; but he is
pure, will-less, painless, timeless subject of knowledge.
This, which in itself is so remarkable (which I well know
confirms 'the saying that originated with Thomas Paine,
Du sublime au ridicule il rCy a qu'un pas), will by degrees
become clearer and less surprising from what follows.
It was this that was running in Spinoza's mind when he
wrote : Meus wterna est, quatenus res sub ozternitatis specie

232 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. hi.

concipit (Eth. V. pr. 31, Schol.)1 ^n such contemplation
the particular thing becomes at once the Idea of its
species, and the perceiving individual becomes pure sub-
ject of knowledge. The individual, as such, knows only
particular things ; the pure subject of knowledge knows
only Ideas. For the individual is the subjec^of know-
ledge in its relation to a definite particular, manifestation
pj will, and in subjection JoJkis. This particular mani-
festation of will is, as such, subordinated to the principle
of sufficient reason in all its forms ; therefore, all know-
ledge which relates itself to it also follows the principle
of sufficient reason, and no other kind of knowledge is
fitted to be of use to the will but this, which always con-
sists merely of relations to the object. The knowing
individual as such, and the particular things known by
him, are always in some place, at some time, and are links
in the chain of causes and effects. The pure subject of
knowledge and his correlative, the Idea, have passed out
of all these forms of the principle of sufficient reason:
time, place, the individual that knows, and the individual
that is known, have for them no meaning. When an
individual knower has raised himself in the manner
described to be pure subject of knowledge, and at the same
time has raised the observed object to the Platonic Idea,
the world as idea appears complete and pure, and the full
objecti fication of the will takes place, for the Platonic
Idea alone is its adequate objectivity. The Idea includes
object and subject in like manner in itself, for they are
its one form ; but in it they are absolutely of equal im-
portance ; for as the object is here, as elsewhere, simply
the idea of the subject, the subject, which passes entirely
into the perceived object* has thus become this object
itself, for the whole consciousness is nothing but its per-

1 I also recommend the perusal of tiva, in illustration of the kind of

what Spinoza says in his Ethics knowledge we are considering, and

(Book II., Prop. 40, Schol. 2, and very specially Prop. 29, Schol. ; prop.

Book V., Props. 25-38), concerning 36, Schol., and Prop. 38, Demonst. et

the cognitio teriii generis, rive intui- SchoL

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 233

fectly distinct picture. Now this consciousness consti-
tutes the whole worldjis ideal for one imagines the whole
of the Platonic Ideas, or grades of the objectivity of will,
in their series passing through it. The particular things
of all time and space are nothing but Ideas multiplied
through the principle of sufficient reason (the form of the
knowledge of the individual as such), and thus obscured
as regards their pure objectivity. When the Platonic
Idea appears, in it subject and object are no longer to be
distinguished, for the Platonic Idea, the adequate objec-
tivity of will, the true world as idea, arises only when
the subject and object reciprocally fill and penetrate
each other completely ; and in the same way the know-
ing and the known individuals, as things in themselves,
are not to be distinguished. For if we look entirely
away from the true world as idea, there remains nothing fy
but the world as will The_will is the " injtself " of the.
Platonic Idea^ which fully objectifies it; it is also the
^in-itself " of the particular thing and of the individual
that knows it, which objectify it incompletely. As will,
outside the idea and all its forms, it is one and the same
in the object contemplated and in the individual, who
soars aloft in this contemplation, and becomes conscious
of himself as pure subject. These two are, therefore, in
themselves not different, for in themselves they are will,
which here knows itself ; and multiplicity and difference
exist only as the way in which this knowledge comes to
the will, ie., only in the phenomenon, on account of its
form, the principle of sufficient reason.

Now the known thing, without me as the subject of
knowledge, is just as little an object, and not mere will,
blind effort, as without the object, without the idea, I
am a knowing subject and not mere blind will. This
will is in itself, i.e.y outside the idea, one and the same
with mine: only in the world as idea, whose form is
always at least that of subject and object, we are sepa-
rated as the known and the knowing individual. As

234 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. hi.

soon as knowledge, the world as idea, is abolished, there
remains nothing but mere will, blind effort. That it
should receive objectivity, become idea, supposes at once
both subject and object; but that this should be pure,
complete, and adequate objectivity of the will, supposes
the object as Platonic Idea, free from the forms of the
principle of sufficient reason, and the subject as the pure
subject of knowledge, free from individuality and subjec-
tion to the will.

Whoever now, has, after the manner referred to, be-
come so absorbed and lost in the perception of nature
that he only continues to exist as the pure knowing sub-
ject, becomes in this way directly conscious that, as such,
he is the condition, that is, the supporter, of the world
and all objective existence ; for this now shows itself as
dependent upon his existence. Thus he draws nature
into himself, so that he sees it to be merely an accident
of his own being. In this sense Byron says — h

" Are not the mountains, waves, and skies, a part
Of me and of my soul, as I of them ? "

But how shall he who feels this, regard himself as ab-
solutely transitory, in contrast to imperishable nature ?
Such a man will rather be filled with the consciousness,
which the Upanishad of the Veda expresses : Ho& omnes
crcuturce in totum ego sum, et proeter me aliud ens non est
(Oupnekhat, i 12 2).1

§ 3 5. In order to gain a deeper insight into the nature of
the world, it is absolutely necessary that we should learn
to distinguish the will as thing-in-itself from its ade-
quate objectivity, and also the different grades in which
this appears more and more distinctly and fully, i.e., the
Ideas themselves, from the merely phenomenal existence
of these Ideas in the forms of the principle of sufficient
reason, the restricted method of knowledge of the indi-
vidual We shall then agree with Plato when he

1 Cf. Chap. xxx. of the Supplement

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 235

attributes actual being only to the Ideas, and allows only
an illusive, dream-like existence to things in space and
time, the real world for the individual. Then we shall
understand how one and the same Idea reveals itself in
so many phenomena, and presents its nature only bit by
bit to the individual, one side after another. Then we
shall also distinguish the Idea itself from the way in
which its manifestation appears in the observation of
the individual, and recognise the former as essential and
the latter as unessential. Let us consider this with the
help of examples taken from the most insignificant things,
and also from the greatest. When the clouds move, the
figures which they form are not essential, but indifferent
to them; but that as elastic vapour they are pressed to-
gether, drifted along, spread out, or torn asunder by the
force of the wind : this is their nature, the essence of the
forces which objectify themselves in them, the Idea;
their actual forms are only for the individual observer.
To the brook that flows over stones, the eddies, the waves,
the foam-flakes which it forms are indifferent and unes-
sential ; but that it follows the attraction of gravity, and
behaves as inelastic, perfectly mobile, formless, transpa-
rent fluid : this is its nature ; this, if known through per-
ception, is its Idea ; these accidental forms are only for
us so long as we know as individuals. The ice on the
window-pane forms itself into crystals according to the
laws of crystallisation, which reveal the essence of the
force of nature that appears here, exhibit the Idea ; but
the trees and flowers which it traces on the pane are
unessential, and are only there for us. What appears in
the clouds, the brook, and the crystal is the weakest echo
of that will which appears more fully in the plant, more
fully still in the beast, and most fully in man. But only
the essential in all these grades of its objectification con-
stitutes the Idea; on the other hand, its unfolding or
development, because broken up in the forms of the
principle of sufficient reason into a multiplicity of many-

236 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. hi.

sided phenomena, is unessential to the Idea, lies merely
in the kind of knowledge that belongs to the individual
and has reality only for this. The same thing necessarily
holds good of the unfolding of that Idea which is the
completest objectivity of will. Therefore, the history of
the human race, the throng of events, the change of
times, the multifarious forms of human life in different
lands and countries, all this is only the accidental form
of the manifestation of the Idea, does not belong to the
Idea itself, in which alone lies the adequate objectivity
of the will, but only to the phenomenon which appears
in the knowledge of the individual, and is just as foreign,
unessential, and indifferent to the Idea itself as the
figures which they assume are to the clouds, the form of
its eddies and foam-flakes to the brook, or its trees and
flowers to the ice.

To him who has thoroughly grasped this, and can dis-
tinguish between the will and the Idea, and between the
Idea and its manifestation, the events of the world will
have significance only so far as they are the letters out
of which we may read the Idea of man, but not in and
for themselves. He will not believe with the vulgar
that time may produce something actually new and
significant ; that through it, or in it, something absolutely
real may attain to existence, or indeed that it itself as a
whole has beginning and end, plan and development, and
in some way has for its final aim the highest perfection
(according to their conception) of the last generation of
man, whose life is a brief thirty years. Therefore he
will just as little, with Homer, people a whole Olympus
with gods to guide the events of time, as, with Ossian, he
will take the forms of the clouds for individual beings;
for, as we have said, both have just as much meaning as
regards the Idea which appears in them. In the mani-
fold forms of human life and in the unceasing change of
events, he will regard the Idea only as the abiding and
essential, in which the will to live has its fullest objec-

THE PLATONIC IDEA: THE OBJECT OF ART. 237

tivity, and which shows its different sides in the capacities,
the passions, the errors and the excellences of the human
race ; in self-interest, hatred, love, fear, boldness, frivolity,
stupidity, slyness, wit, genius, and so forth, all of which
crowding together and combining in thousands of forms
(individuals), continually create the history of the great
and the little world, in which it is all the same whether
they are set in motion by nuts or by crowns. Finally,
he will find that in the world it is the same as in the
dramas of Gozzi, in all of which the same persons
appear, with like intention, and with a like fate; the
motives and incidents are certainly different in each
piece, but the spirit of the incidents is the same; the
actors in one piece know nothing of the incidents of
another, although they performed in it themselves ;
therefore, after all experience of former pieces, Pantaloon
has become no more agile or generous, Tartaglia no more
conscientious, Brighella no more courageous, and Colum-
bine no more modest.

Suppose we were allowed for once a clearer glance
into the kingdom of the possible, and over the whole
chain of causes and effects ; if the earth-spirit appeared
and showed us in a picture all the greatest men, en-
lighteners of the world, and heroes, that chance destroyed
before they were ripe for their work; then the great
events that would have changed the history of the world
and brought in periods of the highest culture and en-
lightenment, but which the blindest chance, the most
insignificant accident, hindered at the outset ; lastly, the
splendid powers of great men, that would have enriched
whole ages of the world, but which, either misled by
error or passion, or compelled by necessity, they squandered
uselessly on unworthy or unfruitful objects, or even wasted
in play. If we saw all this, we would shudder and lament
at the thought of the lost treasures of whole periods of
the world. But the earth-spirit would smile and say,
" The source from which the individuals and their powers

23* THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. hi.

proceed is inexhaustible and unending as time and space ;
for, like these forms of all phenomena, they also are only
phenomena, visibility of the will. No finite measure
can exhaust that infinite source; therefore an undimi-
nished eternity is always open for the return of any
event or work that was nipped in the bud. In this world
of phenomena true loss is just as little possible as true
gain. The will alone is ; it is the thing in-itself, and the
source of all these phenomena. Its self-knowledge and
its assertion or denial, which is then decided upon, is the
only event in-itself." x

§ 36. History follows the thread of events; it is prag-
matic so far as it deduces them in accordance with the
law of motivation, a law that determines the self-mani-
festing will wherever it is enlightened by knowledge.
At the lowest grades of its objectivity, where it still acts
without knowledge, natural science, in the form of etiology,
treats of the laws of the changes of its phenomena, and,
in the form of morphology, of what is permanent in them.
This almost endless task is lightened by the aid of con-
cepts, which comprehend what is general in order that
we may deduce what is particular from it. Lastly,
mathematics treats of the mere forms, time and space, in
which the Ideas, broken up into multiplicity, appear for
the knowledge of the subject as individual. All these,
of which the common name is science, proceed according
to the principle of sufficient reason in its different forms,
and their theme is always the phenomenon, its laws, con-
nections, and the relations which result from them. But
what kind of knowledge is conceineiLwith that which is
outside and "idp.ppndp.nt nf all relation^ t.W. which alone
is really essential to the world, the true content of its
phenomena, that which is subject to no change, and
therefore is known with equal truth for all time, in a
word, the Ideas, which are the direct and adequate objec-

1 This last sentence cannot be understood without some acquaintance
with the next book.

THE PLATONIC IDEA • THE OBJECT OF ART. 2&

tivity of the thing iu-itself, the will ? We answer, Art,
the work of genius. It repeats or reproduces the eternal
Ideas grasped through pure contemplation, the essential
and abiding in all the phenomena of the world; and
according to what the material is in which it reproduces,
it is sculpture or painting, poetry or music. Its one
source is the knowledge of Ideas ; its one aim the com-
munication of this knowledge. While science, following
the unresting and inconstant stream of the fourfold forms
of reason and consequent, with each end attained , sees
further, and can never reach a final goal nor attain full
satisfaction, any more than by running we can reach the
place where the clouds touch the horizon; art, on the
contrary, is everywhere at its goaL For it plucks the
object of its contemplation out of the stream of the
world's course, and has it isolated before it. And this
particular thing, which in that stream was a small perish-
ing part, becomes to art the representative of the whole,
an equivalent of the endless multitude in space and
time. It therefore pauses at this particular thing ; the
course of time stops; the relations vanish for it; only
the essential, the Idea, is its object. We may, therefore,
accurately define it as the way of viewing things inde-
-qmdent of the principle of sufficient reason, in opposition
to the way of viewing them which proceeds in accordance
with that principle, and which is the method of expe-
rience and of science. This last method of considering
things may be compared to a line infinitely extended in
a horizontal direction, and the former to a vertical line
which cuts it at any point. The method of viewing
things which proceeds in accordance with the principle
of sufficient reason is the rational method, and it alone is
valid and of use in practical life and in science. The
method which looks away from the content of this prin-
ciple is the method of genius, which is only valid and of
use in art. The first is the method of Aristotle ; the
second is, on the whole, that of Plato. The first is like

240 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. hi.

the mighty storm, that rushes along without beginning
and without aim, bending, agitating, and carrying away
everything before it ; the second is like the silent sun-
beam, that pierces through the storm quite unaffected by
it The first is like the innumerable showering drops of
the waterfall, which, constantly changing, never rest for
an instant ; the second is like the rainbow, quietly resting
on this raging torrent. Only through the pure contem-
plation described above, which ends entirely in the object,
can Ideas be comprehended; and the nature of genius
consists in pre-eminent capacity for such contemplation.
Now, as this requires that a man should entirely forget
himself and the relations in which he stands, genius is
simply the completest objectivity, i.e.} the objective ten-
dency of the mind, as opposed to the subjective, which is
directed to one's own self — in other words, to the wilL
Thus genius is _ the faculty of continuing in the state of
pnrp. pp.rr.p.ptionj of losing oneself in perception, and of
enlisting in this service the knowledge which originally
existed only for the service of the will ; that is to say,
genius is the power of leaving one's own interests, wishes,
and aims entirely out of sight, thus of entirely renounc-
ing one's own personality for a time, so as to remain pure
knowing suoject, clear vision of the world ; and this noj
merely at moments, but for a sufficient length of time,
and with sufficient consciousness, to enable one to repro-
duce by deliberate art what has thus been apprehended,
and " to fix in lasting thoughts the wavering images that
float before the mind." It is as if, when genius appears
in an individual, a far larger measure of the power of
knowledge falls to his lot than is necessary for the ser-
vice of an individual will ; and this superfluity of know-
ledge, being free, now becomes subject purified from will,
a clear mirror of the inner nature of the world. This
explains the activity, amounting even to disquietude, of
men of genius, for the present can seldom satisfy them,
because it does not fill their consciousness. This gives

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 241

them that restless aspiration, that unceasing desire for new
things, and for the contemplation of lofty things, and
also that longing that is hardly ever satisfied, for men
of similar nature and of like stature, to whom they might
communicate themselves; whilst the common mortal,
entirely filled and satisfied by the common present, ends
in it, and finding everywhere his like, enjoys that peculiar
satisfaction in daily life that is denied to genius.

Imagination has rightly been recognised as an essential
element of genius ; it has sometimes even been regarded
as identical with it ; but this is a mistake. As the objects
of genius are the eternal Ideas, the permanent, essential
forms of the world and all its phenomena, and as the
knowledge of the Idea is necessarily knowledge through
percepiion, is not abstract, the knowledge of the genius
would be limited to the Ideas of the objects actually
present to his person, and dependent upon the chain of
circumstances that brought these objects to him, if his
imagination did not extend his horizon far beyond the
limits of his actual personal existence, and thus enable
him to construct the whole out of the little that comes
into his own actual apperception, and so to let almost all
possible scenes of life pass tiefore him in his own con-
sciousness. Further, the actual objects are almost always
very imperfect copies of the Ideas expressed in them;
therefore the man of genius requires imagination in order
to see in things, not that which Nature has actually made,
but that which she endeavoured to make, yet could not
because of that conflict of her forms among themselves
which we referred to in the last book We shall return
to this farther on in treating of sculpture. The imagi-
nation then extends the intellectual horizon of the man of
genius beyond the objects which actually present them-
selves to him, both as regards quality and quantity.
Therefore extraordinary strength of imagination accom-,
panies, and is indeed a necessary condition of genius.
But the converse does not hold, for strength of imagi-
vol. 1. n

242 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. hi.

nation does not indicate genius ; on the contrary, men who
have no touch of genius may have much imagination.
For as it is possible to consider a real object in two
opposite ways, purely objectively, the way of genius
grasping its Idea, or in the common way, merely in the
relations in which it stands to other objects and to one's
own will, in accordance with the principle of sufficient
reason, it is also possible to perceive an imaginary object
in both of these ways. Regarded in the first way, it is a
means to the knowledge of the Idea, the communication
of which is the work of art; in the second case, the
imaginary object is U3ed to build castles in the air
congenial to egotism and the individual humour, and
which for the moment delude and gratify ; thus only the
relations of the phantasies so linked together are known.
The man who indulges in such an amusement is a
dreamer ; he will easily mingle those fancies that delight
his solitude with reality, and so unfit himself for real
life: perhaps he will write them down, and then we
shall have the ordinary novel of every description, which
entertains those who are like him and the public at large,
for the readers imagine themselves in the place of the
hero, and then find the story very agreeable.

The common mortal, that manufacture of Nature which
she produces by the thousand every day, is, as we have
said, not capable, at least not continuously so, of obser-
vation that in every sense is wholly disinterested, as
sensuous contemplation, strictly so called, is. He can
turn his attention to things only so far as they have
some relation to his will, however indirect it may be.
Since in this respect, which never demands anything but
the knowledge of relations, the abstract conception of the
thing is sufficient, and for the most part even better
adapted for use ; the ordinary man does not linger long
over the mere perception, does not fix his attention long
on one object, but in all that is presented to him hastily
seeks merely the concept under which it is to be brought.

THE PLATONIC IDEA ': THE OBJECT OF ART. 243

as the lazy man seeks a chair, and then it interests him
no further. This is why he is so soon done with every-
thing, with works of art, objects of natural beauty, and
indeed everywhere with the truly significant contempla-
tion of all the scenes of life. He does not linger ; only
seeks to know his own way in life, together with all that
might at any time become his way. Thus he makes topo-
graphical notes in the widest sense ; over the considera-
tion of life itself as such he wastes no time. The man
of genius, on the other hand, whose excessive power of
knowledge frees it at times from the service of will,
dwells on the consideration of life itself, strives to com-
prehend the Idea of each thing, not its relations to other
things ; and in doing this he often forgets to consider his
own path in life, and therefore for the most part pursues
it awkwardly enough. While to the ordinary man his
faculty of knowledge is a lamp to lighten his path, to the
man of genius it is the sun which reveals the world.
This great diversity in their way of looking at life soon
becomes visible in the outward appearance both of the
man of genius and of the ordinary mortal. The man in
whom genius lives and works is easily distinguished by
his glance, which is both keen and steady, and bears the
stamp of perception, of contemplation. This is easily seen
from the likenesses of the few men of genius whom Nature
has produced here and there among countless millions.
On the other hand, in the case of an ordinary man, the
true object of his contemplation, what he is prying into,
can be easily seen from his glance, if indeed it is not
quite stupid and vacant, as is generally the case. There-
fore the expression of genius in a face consists in this,
tnat injt a decided predominance of knowledge over will
is visible, and consequently there also shows itself in iT
qJguMglfidf^Jjhat. is entirely devoid of rfilatimLJO-™!!,
hL^pure knowing. On the contraiy, in ordinary counte-
nances there is a predominant expression of will; and
?re see that Jcnowledge only comes into activity under

244 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. hi.

thejmjmlae-fll—sadll, and thus is directed merely by
motives.

Since the knowledge that pertains to genius, or the
knowledge of Ideas, is that knowledge which does not
follow the principle of sufficient reason, so, on the other
hand, the knowledge which does follow, that principle is
that which gives us prudence and raJiojiality_in_life, and
which creates the sciences. Thus men of genius are
affected with the deficiencies entailed in the neglect of
this latter kind of knowledge. Yet what I say in this
regard is subject to the limitation that it only concerns
them in so far as and while they are actually engaged
in that kind of knowledge which is peculiar to genius ;
and this is by no means at every moment of their lives,
for the great though spontaneous exertion which is de-
manded for the comprehension of Ideas free from will
must necessarily relax, and there are long intervals during
which men of genius are placed in very much the same
position as ordinary mortals, both as regards advantages
and deficiencies. On this account the action of genius
has always been regarded as an inspiration, as indeed the
name indicates, as the action of o, superhuman being
distinct from the individual himself, and which takes
possession of him only periodically. The disinclination
of men of genius to direct their attention to the content
of the principle of sufficient reason will first show itself,
with regard to the ground of being, as foslike of mathe-
matics ; for its procedure is based upon the most universal
forms of the phenomenon space and time, which are
themselves merely modes of the principle of sufficient
reason, and is consequently precisely the opposite of that
method of thought which seeks merely the content of
the phenomenon, the Idea which expresses itself in it
apart from all relations. The logical method of mathe-
matics is also antagonistic to genius, for it does not
satisfy but obstructs true insight, and presents merely a
chain of conclusions in accordance with the principle of

lio m<3#fe**tffr*jl &4+V4& '

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 245

the ground of knowing. The mental faculty upon which
it makes the greatest claim is memory, for it is necessary /
to recollect all the earlier propositions which are referred /
to. Experience has also proved that men of great artis- #
tic genius have no faculty for mathematics ; no man was
ever very distinguished for both. Alfieri relates that
he was never able to understand the fourth proposition
of Euclid. Goethe was constantly reproached with his
want of mathematical knowledge by the ignorant oppo-
nents of his theory of colours. Here certainly, where it
was not a question of calculation and measurement upon
hypothetical data, but of direct knowledge by the under-
standing of causes and effects, this reproach was so
utterly absurd and inappropriate, that by making it they
have exposed their entire want of judgment, just as much
as by the rest of their ridiculous arguments. The fact
that up to the present day, nearly half a century after
the appearance of Goethe's theory of colours, even in
Germany the Newtonian fallacies still have undisturbed
possession of the professorial chair, and men continue to
speak quite seriously of the seven homogeneous rays of
light and their different ref'rangibility, will some day be
numbered among the great intellectual peculiarities of
men generally, and especially of Germans. From the
same cause as we have referred to above, may be ex-
plained the equally well-known fact that, conversely,
admirable mathematicians have very little susceptibility
for works of fine art. This is very naively expressed in
the well-known anecdote of the French mathematician,
who, after having read Racine's " Iphigenia," shrugged his
shoulders and asked, " Quest ce que cela prouve ? " Fur-
ther, as quick comprehension of relations in accordance
with the laws of causality and motivation is what spe-
cially constitutes prudence or sagacity, a .prudent man,
so far as and while he is so, will not be a genius, and a
manof genius^so far as and while he is so, will not be
a prudent man. Lastly, perceptive knowledge generally,

246 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. hi.

in the province of which the Idea always lies, is directly
opposed to rational or abstract knowledge, which is
guided by the principle of the ground of knowing. It is
also well known that we seldom find great genius united
with pre-eminent reasonableness ; on the contrary,, per-
qoivi nf gpnius are often rii bjftpt- Jfij^gp* p-ra^fa'""** «"d
irrational passions. But the ground of this is not weak-
ness of reason, but partly unwonted energy of that whole
phenomenon of will — the man of genius — which ex-
presses itself through the violence of all his acts of will,
and partly preponderance of the knowledge of percep-
tion through the senses and understanding over abstract
knowledge, producing a decided tendency to the per-
ceptible, the exceedingly lively impressions of which so
far outshine colourless concepts, that they take their
place in the guidance of action, which consequently
becomes irrational. Accordingly the impression of* the
present moment is very strong with such persons, and
carries them away into unconsidered action, violent
emotions and passions. Moreover, since, in general, the
knowledge of persons of genius has to some extent freed
itself from the service of will, they will not in conversa-
tion think so much of the person they are addressing as
of the thing they are speaking about, which is vividly
present to them ; and therefore they are likely to judge
or narrate things too objectively for their own inte-
rests ; they will not pass over in silence what would more
prudently be concealed, and so forth. Finally, they are
given to soliloquising, and in general may exhibit certain
weaknesses which are actually akin to madness. It has
often been remarked that there is a_side at which genius
and_madness touch, and even pass over into each other,
and indeed poetical inspiration has been called a kind of
madness : amabilis insania, Horace calls it (Od. iii. 4),
and Wieland in the introduction to " Oberon " speaks of
it as " amiable madness." Even Aristotle, as quoted by
Seneca (De Tranq. Animi, 15, 16), is reported to have

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 247

said: Nullum magnum ingenium sine mixtura dementico
fuit. Plato expresses it in the figure of the dark cave,
referred to above (De Eep. 7), when he says : " Those who,
outside the cave, have seen the true sunlight and the
things that have true being (Ideas), cannot afterwards see
properly down in the cave, because their eyes are not
accustomed to the darkness ; they cannot distinguish the
shadows, and are jeered at for their mistakes by those
who have never left the cave and its shadows." In the
" Phsedrus " also (p. 3 1 7), he distinctly says that there
can be no true poet without a certain madness ; in fact,
(p. 327), that every one appears mad who recognises the
eternal Ideas in fleeting things. Cicero also quotes:
Negat enim sine furore, Democritus, quemquam poetam
magnum esse posse ; quod idem dicit Plato (De Divin., i
37). And, lastly, Pope says —

" Great wits to madness sure are near allied,
And thin partitions do their bounds divide."

Especially instructive in this respect is Goethe's " Torquato
Tasso," in which he shows us not only the suffering, the
martyrdom of genius as such, but also how it constantly
passes into madness. Finally, the fact of the direct connec-
tion of genius and madness is established by the biographies
of great men of genius, such as Rousseau, Byron, and Alfieri,
and by anecdotes from the lives of others. On the other
hand, I must mention that, by a diligent search in lunatic
asylums, I have found individual cases of patients who
were unquestionably endowed with great talents, and
whose genius distinctly appeared through their madness,
which, however, had completely gained the upper hand.
Now this cannot be ascribed to chance, for on the one
hand the number of mad persons is relatively very small,
and on the other hand a person of genius is a pheno-
menon which is rare beyond all ordinary estimation, and
only appears in nature as the greatest exception. It will
be sufficient to convince us of this if we compare the

248 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. iil

number of really great men of genius that the whole of
civilised Europe has produced, botli in ancient and modern
times, with the two hundred and fifty millions who are
always living in Europe, and who change entirely every
thirty years. In estimating the number of men of out-
standing genius, we must of course only count those who
have produced works which have retained through all time
an enduring value for mankind. I shall not refrain from
mentioning, that I have known some persons of decided,
though not remarkable, mental superiority, who also
showed a slight trace of insanity. It might seem from
this that every advance of intellect beyond the ordinary
measure, as an abnormal development, disposes to mad-
ness. In the meantime, however, I will explain as
briefly as possible my view of the purely intellectual
ground of the relation between genius and madness, for
tins will certainly assist the explanation of the real
nature of genius, that is to say, of that mental endow-
ment which alone can produce genuine works of art.
But this necessitates a brief explanation of madness
itself.1

A clear and complete insight into the nature of mad-
ness, a correct and distinct conception of what constitutes
the difference between the sane and the insane, has, as
far as I know, not as yet been found. Neither reason
nor understanding can be denied to madmen, for they
talk and understand, and often draw very accurate con-
clusions ; they also, as a rule, perceive what is present
quite correctly, and apprehend the connection between
cause and effect. Visions, like the phantasies of delirium,
are no ordinary symptom of madness : delirium falsifies
perception, madness the thoughts. For the most part,
madmen do not err in the knowledge of what is imme-
diately present; their raving always relates to what is
absent and past, and only through these to their connection
with what is present. Therefore it seems to me that

1 Cf. Chap. xxxi. of the Supplement.

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 249

their malady specially concerns the memory ; not indeed
that memory fails them entirely, for many of them know
a great deal by heart, and sometimes recognise persons
whom they have not seen for a long time ; but rather
that the thread of memory is broken, the continuity of
its connection destroyed, and no uniformly connected
recollection of the past is possible. Particular scenes of
the past are known correctly, just like the particular
present ; but there are gaps in their recollection which
they fill up with fictions, and these are either always the
same, in which case they become ^^fi^d— ideas, and the
madness that results is called monomania or melancholy ;
or they are always different, momentary fancies, and then
it is called folly, fatuitas. This is why it is so difficult
to find out their former life from lunatics when they
enter an asylum. The true and the false are always
mixed up in their memory. Although the immediate
present is correctly known, it becomes falsified through
its fictitious connection with an imaginary past; they
therefore regard themselves and others as identical with
persons who exist only in their imaginary past ; they do
not recognise some of their acquaintances at all, and thus
while they perceive correctly what is actually present,
they have only false conceptions of its relations to what
is absent. If the madness reaches a high degree, there
is complete absence of memory, so that the madman is
quite incapable of any reference to what is absent or past,
and is only determined by the caprice of the moment in
connection with the fictions which, in his mind, fill the
past. In such a case, we are never for a moment safe
from violence or murder, unless we constantly make the
madman aware of the presence of superior force. The
knowledge of the madman has this in common with that
of the brute, both are confined to the present. What
distinguishes them is that the brute has really no idea of
the past as such, though the past acts upon it through
the medium of custom, so that, for example, the dog

250 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. of

recognises its former master even after years, that is to say,
it receives the wonted impression at the sight of him ;
but of the time that has passed since it saw him it has
no recollection. The madman, on the other hand, always
carries about in his reason an abstract past, but it is a
false past, which exists only for him, and that either con-
stantly, or only for the moment. The influence of this
false past prevents the use of the true knowledge of
the present which the brute is able to make. The fact
that violent mental suffering or unexpected and terrible
calamities should often produce madness, I explain in
the following manner. All such suffering is as an actual
event confined to the present. It is thus merely transi-
tory, and is consequently never excessively heavy ; it only
becomes unendnrably great when it is lasting pain ; but
as such it exists only in thought, and therefore lies in
the memory. If now such a sorrow, such painful know-
ledge or reflection, is so bitter that it becomes altogether
unbearable, and the individual is prostrated under it,
then, terrified Nature seizes upon madness as the last
resource of life ; the mind so fearfully tortured at once
destroys the thread of its memory, fills up the gaps with
fictions, and thus seeks refuge in madness from the men-
tal suffering that exceeds its strength, just as we cut off
a mortified limb and replace it with a wooden one. The
distracted Ajax, King Lear, and Ophelia may be taken
as examples ; for the creations of true genius, to which
alone we can refer here, as universally known, are equal
in truth to real persons ; besides, in this case, frequent
actual experience shows the same thing. A faint analogy
of this kind of transition from pain to madness is to be
found in the way in which all of us often seek, as it were
mechanically, to drive away a painful thought that sud-
denly occurs to us by some loud exclamation or quick
movement — to turn ourselves from it, to distract our
minds by force.

We see, from what has been said, that the madman has

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 251

a true knowledge of what is actually present, and also of
certain particulars of the past, but that he mistakes the
connection, the relations, and therefore falls into error
and talks nonsense. Now this is exactly the point at
which he comes into contact with the man of genius ;
for he also leaves out of sight the knowledge of the
connection of things/since he neglects that knowledge
of relations which conforms to the principle of sufficient
reason, in order to see in things only their Ideas, and to
seek to comprehend their true nature, which manifests
itself to perception, and in regard to which one thing
represents its whole species, in which way, as Goethe
says, one case is valid for a thousand. The particular
object of his contemplation, or the present which is per-
ceived by him with extraordinary vividness, appear in so
strong a light that the other links of the chain to which
they belong are at once thrown into the shade, and this
gives rise to phenomena which have long been recognised
as resembling those of madness. That which in particular
given things exists only incompletely and weakened by
modifications, is raised by the man of genius, through his
way of contemplating it, to the Idea of the thing, to com-
pleteness: he therefore sees everywhere extremes, and
therefore his own action tends to extremes ; he cannot
hit the mean, he lacks soberness, and the result is what
we have said. He knows the Ideas completely but not
the individuals. Therefore it has been said that a poet
may know mankind deeply and thoroughly, and may yet
have a very imperfect knowledge of men. He is easily
deceived, and is a tool in the hands of the crafty.

§ 37. Genius, then, consists, according to our explana-
tion, in the capacity for knowing, independently of the
principle of sufficient reason, not individual things, which
have their existence only in their relations, but the Ideas
of such things, and of being oneself the correlative of the
Idea, and thus no longer an individual, but the pure sub-
ject of knowledge. Yet this faculty must exist in all

252 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. hi

men in a smaller and different degree ; for if not, they
would be just as incapable of enjoying works of art as of
producing them ; they would have no susceptibility for
the beautiful or the sublime ; indeed, these words could
have no meaning for them. We must therefore assume
that there exists in all men this power of knowing the
Ideas in tilings, and consequently of transcending their
personality for the moment, unless indeed there are some
men who are capable of no aesthetic pleasure at all. The
man of genius excels ordinary men only by possessing
this kind of knowledge in a far higher degree and more
continuously. Thus, while under its influence he retains
the presence of mind which is necessary to enable him to
repeat in a voluntary and intentional work what he has
learned in this manner ; and this repetition is the work
of art. Through this he communicates to others the Idea
he has grasped. This Idea remains unchanged and the
same, so that aesthetic pleasure is one and the same
whether it is called forth by a work of art or directly
by the contemplation of nature and life. The work of
art is only a means of facilitating the knowledge in which
this pleasure consists. That the Idea comes to us more
easily from the work of art than directly from nature and
the real world, arises from the fact that the artist, who
knew only the Idea, no longer the actual, has reproduced
in his work the pure Idea, has abstracted it from the
actual, omitting all disturbing accidents. The artist lets
us see the world through his eyes. That he has these
eyes, that he knows the inner nature of things apart from
all their relations, is the gift of genius, is inborn; but
that he is able to lend us this gift, to let us see with his
eyes, is acquired, and is the technical side of art. There-
fore, after the account which I have given in the preced-
ing pages of the inner nature of aesthetical knowledge in
its most general outlines, the following more exact philo-
sophical treatment of the beautiful and the sublime will
explain them both, in nature and in art, without separating

THE PLATONIC IDEA: THE OBJECT OF ART. 253

them further. First of all we shall consider what takes
place in a man when he is affected by the beautiful and
the sublime; whether he derives this emotion directly
from nature, from life, or partakes of it only through the
medium of art, does not make any essential, but merely
an external, difference.

§ 38. In the sesthetical mode of contemplation we
have found two inseparable constituent parts — the know-
ledge of the object, not as individual thing but as
^Platonic Idea, that is, as the enduring form of this whole
species of things; and the self-consciousness of the know-
ing., person, not as individual, but as pure will-less subject
of knowledge. The condition under which both these
constituent parts appear always united was found to
be the abandonment of the method of knowing which is
bound to the principle of sufficient reason, and which, on
the other hand, is the only kind of knowledge that is of
value for the service of the will and also for science.
Moreover, we shall see that the pleasure which is pro-
duced by the contemplation of the beautiful arises from
these two constituent parts, sometimes more from the
one, sometimes more from the other, according to what
the object of the sesthetical contemplation may be.

All willinn aaaflfl from want, therefore from deficiency,
andJJHTQfrrp froip suffering, The satisfaction of a wish
ends it ; yet for one wish that is satisfied there remain
at least ten which are denied. Further, the desire lasts
long, the demands are infinite ; the satisfaction is short
and scantily measured out. But even the final satisfac-
tion is itself only apparent ; every satisfied wish at once
makes room for a new one ; both are illusions ; the one
is known to be so, the other not yet. No attained
object of desire can give lasting satisfaction, but merely
a fleeting gratification ; it is like the alms thrown to the
beggar, that keeps him alive to-day that his misery may
be prolonged till the morrow. Therefore, so long as our
consciousness is filled by our will, so long as we are

2*4 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. iil

given up to the throng of desires with their constant
f hopes and fears, so long as we are the subject of willing,
I we can never have lasting happiness nor peace. It is
essentially all the same whether we pursue or flee, fear
injury or seek enjoyment ; the care for the constant
demands of the will, in whatever form it may be, con-
tinually occupies and sways the consciousness ; but
without peace no true well-being is possible. The sub-
ject of willing is thus constantly stretched on the
revolving wheel of Ixion, pours water into the sieve of
the Danaids, is the ever-longing Tantalus.

But when some external cause or inward disposition
lifts us suddenly out of the endless stream of willing,
delivers knowledge from the slavery of the will, the at-
tention is no longer directed to the motives of willing,
but comprehends things free from their relation to the
will, and thus observes them without personal interest,
without subjectivity, purely objectively, gives itself en-
tirely up to them so far as they are ideas, but not in so
far as they are motives. Then all at once the peace
which we were always seeking, but which always lied
from us on the former path of the desires, comes to us
of its own accord, and it is well with us. It is the pain-
less state which Epicurus prized as the highest good and
as the state of the gods ; for wre are for the moment set
free from the miserable striving of the will ; we keep the
Sabbath of the penal servitude of willing ; the wheel of
Ixion stands still.

But this is just the state which I described above as
necessary for the knowledge of the Idea, as pure contem-
plation, as sinking oneself in perception, losing oneself in
the object, forgetting all individuality, surrendering that
kind of knowledge which follows the principle of suffi-
cient reason, ana\ comprehends only relational the state
by means of which at once and inseparably the perceived
particular thing is raised to the Idea of its whole species,
and the knowing individual to the pure subject of will-

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 255

less knowledge, and as such they are both taken out of
the stream of time and all other relations. It is then all
one whether we see the sun set from the prison or from
the palace.

Inward disposition, the predominance of knowing over
willing, can produce this state under any circumstances.
This is shown by those admirable Dutch artists who
directed this purely objective perception to the most
insignificant objects, and established a lasting monument
of their objectivity and spiritual peace in their pictures
of still life, which the aesthetic beholder does not look on
without emotion; for they present to him the peaceful,
still, frame of mind of the artist, free from will, which
was needed to contemplate such insignificant things so
objectively, to observe them so attentively, and to repeat
this perception so intelligently ; and as the picture enables
the onlooker to participate in this state, his emotion is
often increased by the contrast between it and the un-
quiet frame of mind, disturbed by vehement willing, in
which he finds himself. In the same spirit, landscape-
painters, and particularly Euisdael, have often painted
very insignificant country scenes, which produce the same
effect even more agreeably.

All this is accomplished by the inner power of an
artistic nature alone ; but that purely objective disposi-
tion is facilitated and assisted from without by suitable
objects, by the abundance of natural beauty which invites
contemplation, and even presses itself upon us. When-
ever it discloses itself suddenly to our view, it almost
always succeeds in delivering us, though it may be only
for a moment, from subjectivity, from the slavery of the
will, and in raising us to the state of pure knowing.
This is why the man who is tormented by passion, or
want, or care, is so suddenly revived, cheered, and restored
by a single free glance into nature : the storm of passion,
the pressure of desire and fear, and all the miseries of
willing are then at once, and in a marvellous manner,

256 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. hi.

calmed and appeased. For at the moment at which,
freed from the will, we give ourselves up to pure will-
less knowing, we pass into a world from which every-
thing is absent that influenced our will and moved us
so violently through it. This freeing of knowledge lifts
us as wholly and entirely away from all that, as do
sleep and dreams ; happiness and unhappiness have dis-
appeared ; we are no longer individual ; the individual is
forgotten ; we are only pure subject of knowledge ; we are
only that one eye of the world which looks out from all
knowing creatures, but which can become perfectly free
from the service of will in man alone. Thus all difference
of individuality so entirely disappears, that it is all the
same whether the perceiving eye belongs to a mighty
king or to a wretched beggar ; for neither joy nor com-
plaining can pass that boundary with us. So near us
always lies a sphere in which we escape from all our
misery ; but who has the strength to continue long in it ?
As soon as any single relation to our will, to our person,
even of these objects of our pure contemplation, comes
again into consciousness, the magic is at an end ; we fall
back into the knowledge which is governed by the prin-
ciple of sufficient reason ; we know no longer the Idea,
but the particular thing, the link of a chain to which we
also belong, and we are again abandoned to all our woe.
Most men remain almost always at this standpoint
because they entirely lack objectivity, i.e., genius. There-
fore they have no pleasure in being alone with nature ;
they need company, or at least a book. For their
knowledge remains subject to their will ; they seek, there-
fore, in objects, only some relation to their will, and when-
ever they see anything that has no such relation, there
sounds within them, like a ground bass in music, the
constant inconsolable cry, " It is of no use to me ; " thus
in solitude the most beautiful surroundings have for them
a desolate, dark, strange, and hostile appearance.

Lastly, it is this blessedness of will-less perception

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 257

which casts an enchanting glamour over the past and
distant, and presents them to us in so fair a light by
means of self-deception. Tor as we think of days long
gone by, days in which we lived in a distant place, it is
only the objects which our fancy recalls, not the sub-
ject of will, which bore about with it then its incurable
sorrows just as it bears them now ; but they are forgotten,
because since then they have often given place to others.
Now, objective perception acts with regard to what is
remembered just as it would in what is present, if we
let it have influence over us, if we surrendered ourselves
to it free from will. Hence it arises that, especially
when we are more than ordinarily disturbed by some
want, the remembrance of past and distant scenes
suddenly flits across our minds like a lost paradise.
The fancy recalls only what was objective, not what was
individually subjective, and we imagine that that objec-
tive stood before us then just as pure and undisturbed
by any relation to the will as its image stands in our
fancy now ; while in reality the relation of the objects
to our will gave us pain then just as it does now. We
can deliver ourselves from all suffering just as well
through present objects as through distant ones when-
ever we raise ourselves to a purely objective contempla-
tion of them, and so are able to bring about the illusion
that only the objects are present and not we ourselves.
Then, as the pure subject of knowledge, freed from the
miserable self, we become entirely one with these objects,
and, for the moment, our wants are as foreign to us as
they are to them. The world as idea alone remains, and
the world as will has disappeared. , ,

In all these reflections it has been my object to bring
out clearly the nature and the scope of the subjective
element in aesthetic pleasure - the deliverance of know-
ledge from the service of the will, the forgetting of self
as an individual, and the raising of the consciousness to
the pure will-less, timeless, subject of knowledge, in(

vol. I. B

i w>1 r '

258

THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. hi.

_£endent oQall relations/) With this subjective side of
aesthetic contemplation, there must always appear as its
necessary correlative the objective side, the intuitive
comprehension of the Platonic Idea. But before we
turn to the closer consideration of this, and to the
achievements of art in relation to it, it is better that we
should pause for a little at the subjective side of aesthetic
pleasure, in order to complete our treatment of this by
explaining the impression of the sublime which depends
altogether upon it, and arises from a modification of
it. After that we shall complete our investigation of
aesthetic pleasure by considering its objective side.

But we must first add the following remarks to what
has been said. Light is the pleasantest and most glad-
dening of things ; it has become the symbol of all that
is good and salutary. In all religions it symbolises sal- H
vation, while darkness symbolises damnation. Ormuzd <
dwells in the purest light, Ahrimines in eternal night.
Dante's Paradise would look very much like Vauxhall
in London, for all the blessed spirits appear as points of
light and arrange themselves in regular figures. The
very absence of light makes us sad ; its return cheers us.
Colours excite directly a keen delight, which readies its
highest degree when they are transparent. All this de-
pends entirely upon the fact that light is the correlative
and condition of the most perfect kind of knowledge of
perception, the only knowledge which does not in any
way affect the wilL For sight, unlike the affections of
the other senses, cannot, in itself, directly and through its
sensuous effect, make the sensation of the special organ
agreeable or disagreeable ; that is, it has no immediate
connection with the will. Such a quality can only be-
long to the perception which arises in the understanding,
and then it lies in the relation of the object to the wilL
In the case of hearing this is to some extent otherwise;
sounds can give pain directly, and they may also be
sensuously agreeable, directly and without regard to

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 259

harmony or melody. Touch, as one with the feeling of
the whole body, is still more subordinated to this direct
influence upon the will ; and yet there is such a thing as
a sensation of touch which is neither painful nor pleasant.
But smells are always either agreeable or disagreeable,
and tastes still more so. Thus the last two senses are
most closely related to the will, and therefore they are
always the most ignoble, and have been called by Kant
the subjective senses. The pleasure which we experience
from light is in fact only the pleasure which arises
from the objective possibility of the purest and fullest
perceptive knowledge, and as such it may be traced to the
fact that pure knowledge, freed and delivered from all
will, is in the highest degree pleasant, and of itself con-
stitutes a large part of aesthetic enjoyment. Again, we
must refer to this view of light the incredible beauty
which we associate with the reflection of objects in water.
That lightest, quickest, finest species of the action of
bodies upon each other, that to which we owe by far the
completest and purest of our perceptions, the action of
reflected rays of light, is here brought clearly before our
eyes, distinct and perfect, in cause and in effect, and
indeed in its entirety, hence the aesthetic delight it gives
us, which, in the most important aspect, is entirely based
on the subjective ground of aesthetic pleasure, and is
delight in pure knowing and its method.

§ 39. All these reflections are intended to bring out
the subjective part of aesthetic pleasure ; that is to say,
that pleasure so far as it consists simply of delight in jDer-

c§I^JI£j^°^?^^ And as

directly connected with this, there naturally follows the
explanation of that disposition or frame of mind which
has been called the sp.nsp. nf thn $>ihUmr._

We have already remarked above that the transition to
the state of pure perception takes place most easily when
the objects bend themselves to it, that is, when by their
manifold and yet definite and distinct form they easily

260 THE WORLD AS IDEA. BK. HI.

become representatives of their Ideas, in which beauty, in
the objective sense, consists. This quality belongs pre-
eminently to natural beauty, which thus affords even to
the most insensible at least a fleeting aesthetic satisfaction :
indeed it is so remarkable how especially the vegetable
world invites aesthetic observation, and, as it were,
presses itself upon it, that one might say, that these
advances are connected with the fact that these organisms,
unlike the bodies of animals, are not themselves immediate
objects of knowledge, and therefore require the assistance
of a foreign intelligent individual in order to rise out of
fh£ wnr1^ nf blind will and enter the world of idea, and
that thus they long, as it were, for this entrance, that
they may attain at least indirectly what is denied them
directly. But I leave this suggestion which I have
hazarded, and which borders perhaps upon extravagance,
entirely undecided, for only a very intimate and devoted
consideration of nature can raise or justify it.1 As long as
that which raises us from the knowledge of mere relations
subject to the will, to aesthetic contemplation, and thereby
exalts us to the position of the subject of knowledge free
from will, is this fittingness of nature, this significance
and distinctness of its forms, on account of which the
Ideas individualised in them readily present themselves
to us ; so long is it merely beauty that affects us and the
sense of the beautiful that is excited. But if these very
objects whose significant forms invite us to pure contem-

•plation, have a hostile relation to the human will in
general, as it exhibits itself in its objectivity, the
human body, if they are opposed to it, so that it is
enaced by the irresistible predominance of their power,
or sinks into insignificance before their immeasurable

Vor

1 I am all the more delighted and varias, qutbus mundi hujus visibiUi

astonished, forty years after I so ttructura formosa est, sentiendat

timidly and hesitatingly advanced sensibus praebent ; ut, pro to quod

this thought, to discover that it nosse non possunt, quasi innotbs-

has already been expressed by St. cere veil* videantur. -De civ. Dei,

Augustine : Arbusta formas sua* xi, 27.

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 261

greatness ; if, nevertheless, the beholder does not direct
his attention to this eminently hostile relation to his will,
but, although perceiving and recognising it, turns con-
sciously away from it, forcibly detaches himself from his^
will and its relations, and, giving himself up entirely to
knowledge, quietly contemplates those very objects that
\V 'are so terrible to the will, comprehends only their Idea,
which is foreign to all relation, so that he lingers gladly
over its contemplation, and is thereby raised above him-
self, his person, his will, and all will : — in that case he
is filled with the sense of the sublime, he is in the state
of spiritual exaltation, and therefore the object produc-
ing such a state is called sublime. Thus what dis-
tinguishes the sense of the sublime from that of the
beautiful is this: in the case of the beautiful, pure
knowledge has gained the upper hand without a struggle,
for the beauty of the object, i.e., that property which
facilitates the knowledge of its Idea, has removed from
consciousness without resistance, and therefore impercep-
tibly, the will and the knowledge of relations which is
subject to it, so that what is left is the pure subject of
knowledge without even a remembrance of will. On the
other hand, in the case of the sublime that state of pure
knowledge is only attained by a conscious and forcible
breaking away from the relations of the same object to
the will, which are recognised as unfavourable, by a free
and conscious transcending of the will and the knowledge
related to it.

This exaltation must not only be consciously won, but
also consciously retained, and it is therefore accompanied
by a constant remembrance of will ; yet not of a single
particular volition, such as fear or desire, but of human
volition in general, so far as it is universally expressed
in its objectivity the human body. If a single real act
of will were to come into consciousness, through actual
personal pressure and danger from the object, then the
individual will thus actually influenced would at once

262 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. iil

gain the upper hand, the peace of contemplation would
become impossible, the impression of the sublime would
be lost, because it yields to the anxiety, in which the
effort of the individual to right itself has sunk every
other thought. A few examples will help very much to
elucidate thisJiieoxY-_oi_4he^sthetic sublime and remove
all doubt with regard to it ; at the same time they will
bring out the different degrees of this sense of the
sublime. It is in the main identical with that of the
beautiful, with purewilHess knowing, and the knowledge,
that necessarily accompanies it of Ideas out of all relation
determined by the principle of sufficient reason, and it
is distinguished from the sense of the beautiful only by
the additional quality that it rises above the known
hostile relation of the object contemplated to the will in
general. Thus there come to be various degrees of the
sublime, and transitions from the beautiful to the
sublime, according as this additional quality is strong,
bold, urgent, near, or weak, distant, and merely indicated.
I think it is more in keeping with the plan of my
treatise, first to give examples of these transitions, and
of the weaker degrees of the impression of the sublime,
although persons whose aesthetical susceptibility in general
is not very great, and whose imagination is not very
lively, will only understand the examples given later of
the higher and more distinct grades of that impression ;
and they should therefore confine themselves to these,
and pass over the examples of the very weak degrees of
the sublime that are to be given first.

As man Js at once impetuous and blind striving of
will (whose pole or focus lies in the genital organs), jnd
eternal, free,_gerene, juhject of_pure knowingjwhose pole
is the brain) ; so, corresponding to this antithesis, the sun
is both the source of light, the condition of the most per-
fect kind of knowledge, and therefore of the most delight-
ful of things — and the source of warmth, the first condition
of life, i.e., of all phenomena of will in its higher grades.

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART, 263

Therefore, what warmth is for the will, light is for know-
ledge. Light is the largest gem in the crown of beauty,
and has the most marked influence on the knowledge of
every beautiful object. Its presence is an indispensable
condition of beauty ; its favourable disposition increases
the beauty of the most beautiful. Architectural beauty
more than any other object is enhanced by favourable
light, though even the most insignificant things become
through its influence most beautiful. If, in the dead of
winter, when all nature is frozen and stiff, we see the
rays of the setting sun reflected by masses of stone,
illuminating without warming, and thus favourable only
to the purest kind of knowledge, not to the will ; the
contemplation of the beautiful effect of the light upon
these masses lifts us, as does all beauty, into a state of
pure knowing. But, in this case, a^ertain transcending
ofTthp. interests of the will is needed to enable us to rise
into the state of pure knowing, because there is a faint
recollection of the lack of warmth from these rays, that
is, an absence of the principle of life ; there is a slight
challenge to persist in pure knowing, and to refrain from
all willing, and therefore it is an example of a tran-
sition from the sense of the beautiful to that of the
sublime. It is the faintest trace of the sublime in
the beautiful; and beauty itself is indeed present only
in a slight degree. The following is almost as weak an
example.

Let us imagine ourselves transported to a very lonely
place, with unbroken horizon, under a cloudless sky,
trees and plants in the perfectly motionless air, no
animals, no men, no running water, the deepest silence.
Such surroundings are, as it were, a call to seriousness
and contemplation, apart from all will and its cravings ;
but this is just what imparts to such a scene of desolate
stillness a touch of the sublime. For, because it affords
no object, either favourable or unfavourable, for the will
which is constantly in need of striving and attaining,

264 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. hi.

there only remains the state of pure contemplation, and
whoever is incapable of this, is ignominiously abandoned
to the vacancy of unoccupied will, and the misery of
ennui. So far it is a test of our intellectual worth, of
which, generally speaking, the degree of our power of
enduring solitude, or our love of it, is a good criterion.
The scene we have sketched affords us, then, an example
of the sublime in a low degree, for in it, with the
state of pure knowing in its peace and all-sufficiency,
there is mingled, by way of contrast, the recollection of
the dependence and poverty of the will which stands in
need of constant action. This is the species of the sub-
lime for which the sight of the boundless prairies of the
interior of North America is celebrated.

But let us suppose such a scene, stripped also of vege-
tation, and showing only naked rocks; then from the
entire absence of that organic life which is necessary
for existence, the will at once becomes uneasy, the desert
assumes a terrible aspect, our mood becomes more tragic ;
the elevation to the sphere of pure knowing takes place
with a more decided tearing of ourselves away from the
interests of the will ; and because we persist in continu-
ing in the state of pure knowing, the sense of the sub-
lime distinctly appears.

The following situation may occasion this feeling in a
still higher degree : Nature convulsed by a storm ; the
sky darkened by black threatening thunder-clouds ; stu-
pendous, naked, overhanging cliffs, completely shutting
out the view ; rushing, foaming torrents ; absolute desert ;
the wail of the wind sweeping through the clefts of the
rocks. Our dependence, our strife with hostile nature,
our will broken in the conflict, now appears visibly before
our eyes. Yet, so long as the personal pressure does not
gain the upper hand, but we continue in aesthetic con-
templation, the pure subject of knowing gazes unshaken
and unconcerned through that strife of nature, through
that picture of the broken will, and quietly comprehends

THE PLATONIC IDEA: THE OBJECT OF ART. 265

the Ideas even of those objects which are threatening
and terrible to the will. In this contrast lies the sense
of the sublime.

But the impression becomes still stronger, if, when we
have before our eyes, on a large scale, the battle of the
raging elements, in such a scene we are prevented from
hearing the sound of our own voice by the noise of a
falling stream; or, if we are abroad in the storm of
tempestuous seas, where the mountainous waves rise and
fall, dash themselves furiously against steep cliffs, and
toss their spray high into the air ; the storm howls, the
sea boils, the lightning flashes from black clouds, and
the peals of thunder drown the voice of storm and sea.
Then, in the undismayed beholder, the two-fold nature of
his consciousness reaches the highest degree of distinct-
ness. He perceives himself, on the one hand, as an in-
dividual, as the frail phenomenon of will, which the
slightest touch of these forces can utterly destroy, help-
less against powerful nature, dependent, the victim of
chance, a vanishing nothing in the presence of stupendous
might ; and, on the other hand, as the eternal, peaceful,
knowing subject, the condition of the object, and, there-
fore, the supporter of this whole world ; the terrific strife
of nature only his idea ; the subject itself free and apart
from all desires and necessities, in the quiet comprehen-
sion of the Ideas. This is the complete impression of
the sublime. Here he obtains a glimpse of_a power
beyond all^compariRnn superior to the individual threat-
ening it with annihilation.

The impression of the sublime may be produced in
quite another way, by presenting a mere immensity in
space and time ; its immeasurable greatness dwindles the
individual to nothing. Adhering to Kant's nomenclature
and his accurate division, we may call the first kind the
(lyjiamicaV and the second the^malheinaMcal^^ublimg,
although we entirely dissent from his explanation of the
inner nature of the impression, and can allow no share

266 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. hi.

in it either to moral reflections, or to hypostases from
scholastic philosophy.

If we lose ourselves in the contemplation of the
infinite greatness of the universe in space and time,
meditate on the thousands of years that are past or to
come, or if the heavens at night actually bring before
our eyes innumerable worlds and so force upon our
consciousness the immensity of the universe, we feel
ourselves dwindle to nothing; as individuals, as living
bodies, as transient phenomena of will, we feel ourselves
pass away and vanish into nothing like drops in the
ocean. But at once there rises against this ghost of our
own nothingness, against such lying impossibility, the
immediate consciousness that all these worlds exist only
as our idea, only as modifications of the eternal subject
of pure knowing, which we find ourselves to be as soon
as we forget our individuality, and which is the neces-
sary supporter of all worlds and all times the condition
of their possibility. The vastness of Jjie_world which
disquieted us before, rests now in us ; our dependence

nj)on_-it 1R an mill pd by it,q dppp.ndpn p.p. iipnn, U,% All

this, however, does not come at once into reflection,
but shows itself merely as the felt consciousness that
in some sense or other (which philosophy alone can
explain) wp arp nnp with thp. world, and therefore not
oppressed, but exalted by its immensity. It is the felt
consciousness of this that the Upanishads of the Vedas
repeatedly express in such a multitude of different ways ;
very admirably in the saying already quoted : Hce omnes
creatures in totum ego sum, et prater vie aliud ens non est
(Oupnek'hat, vol. i. p. 122.) It is the transcending of
our own individuality, the sense of the sublime.

We receive this impression of the mathematical-sublime,
quite directly, by means of a space which is small indeed
as compared with the world, but winch has become
directly perceptible to us, and aifects us with its whole
extent in all its three dimensions, so as to make our own

THE PLATONIC IDEA . THE OBJECT OF ART. 267

body seem almost infinitely small. An empty space can
never be thus jperceived, and therefore never an open
space, but only space that is directly perceptible in all
its jiimensions„,by means of the limits which enclose Jl;
thus for example a very high, vast dome, like that of St.
Peter's at Eome, or St. Paul's in London. The sense of
the sublime here arises through the consciousness of the
vanishing nothingness of our own body in the presence
of a vastness which, from another point of view, itself
exists only in our idea, and of which we are as knowing
subject, the supporter. Thus here as everywhere it arises"1
from the contrast between the insignificance and depend-
ence of ourselves as individuals, as phenomena of will,
and the consciousness of ourselves as pure subject o£
knowing. Even the vault of the starry heaven produces
this if it is cpntejnjpiaied^ ; but just in

the same way as the vault of stone, and only by its
apparent, not its reaL extent. Some objects of our per-
ception excite in us the feeling of the sublime because,
not only on account of their spatial vastness, but also of
their great age, that is, their temporal duration, we feel
ourselves dwarfed to insignificance in their presence, and
yet revel in the pleasure of contemplating them : of this
kind are very high mountains, the Egyptian pyramids,
and colossal ruins of great antiquity.

Our explanation of the sublime applies also to the
ethical, to what is called the sublime character. Such a
character arises from this, that the will is not excited by
objects which are well calculated to excite it, but that
knowledge retains the upper hand in their presence. A
man of sublime character will accordingly consider men
in a purely objective way, and not with reference to the
relations which they might have to his will ; he will, for
example, observe their faults, even their hatred and
injustice to himself, without being himself excited to
hatred ; he will behold their happiness without envy ; he
will recognise their good qualities without desiring any

268 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. hi.

closer relations with them ; he will perceive the beauty
of women, but he will not desire them. His personal
happiness or unhappiness will not greatly affect him, he
will rather be as Hamlet describes Horatio : —

"... for thou hast been,
As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing ;
A man that fortune's buffets and rewards
Hast ta'en with equal thanks," &c (A. 3. Sc. 2.)

For in the course of his own life and its misfortunes, he
will consider less his individual lot than that of humanity
in general, and will therefore conduct himself in its regard,
rather as knowing than as suffering.

§ 40. Opposites throw light upon each other, and
therefore the remark may be in place here, that the
proper opposite of the sublime is something which would
not at the first glance be recognised, as such : the charm-
ing or attractive. By this, however, I understand, that
which excites the will by presenting to it directly its
1 lulfilment, its satisfaction. We saw that the feeling of
the sublime arises from the fact, that something entirely
unfavourable to the will, becomes the object of pure con-
templation, so that such contemplation can only be main-
tained by persistently turning away from the will, and
transcending its interests ; this constitutes the sublimity
of the character. The charming or attractive, on the con-
trary, draws the beholder away from the pure contem-
plation which is demanded by all apprehension of the
beautiful, because it necessarily excites this will, by
objects which directly appeal to it, and thus he no longer
remains pure subject of knowing, but becomes the needy
and dependent subject of will. That every beautiful
thing which is bright or cheering should be called charm-
ing, is the result of a too general concept, which arises
from a want of accurate discrimination, and which I
must entirely set aside, and indeed condemn. But in the
sense of the word which has been given and explained, I

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 269

find only two species of the charming or attractive in the
province of art, and both of them are unworthy of it.
The one species, a very low one, is found in Dutch paint-
ings of still life, when they err by representing articles
of food, which by their deceptive likeness necessarily
excite the appetite for the things they represent, and
this is just an excitement of the will, which puts an end
to all aesthetic contemplation of the object. Painted
fruit is yet admissible, because we may regard it as the
further development of the flower, and as a beautiful
product of nature in form and colour, without being
obliged to think of it as eatable ; but unfortunately we
often find, represented with deceptive naturalness, pre-
pared and served dishes, oysters, herrings, crabs, bread
and butter, beer, wine, and so forth, which is altogether
to be condemned. In historical painting and in sculp-
ture the charming consists in naked figures, whose
position, drapery, and general treatment are calculated
to excite the passions of the beholder, and thus pure
sesthetical contemplation is at once annihilated, and the
aim of art is defeated. This mistake corresponds exactly
to that which we have just censured in the Dutch paint-
ings. The ancients are almost always free from this
fault in their representations of beauty and complete
nakedness of form, because the artist himself created
them in a purely objective spirit, filled with ideal beauty,
not in the spirit of subjective, and base sensuality. The
charming is thus everywhere to be avoided in art.

There is also a negative species of the charming or
exciting which is even more reprehensible than the posi-
tive form which has been discussed ; this is the disgust-
ing or the loathsome. It arouses the will of the beholder,
just as what is properly speaking charming, and therefore
disturbs pure aesthetic contemplation. But it is an active
aversion and opposition which is excited by it ; it arouses
the will by presenting to it objects which it abhors.
Therefore it has always been recognised that it is

27© THE WORLD AS IDEA.

BK. IIL

altogether inadmissible in art, where even what is u<*ly,
when it is not disgusting, is allowable in its proper place,
as we shall see later.

§ 41. The course of the discussion has made it
necessary to insert at this point the treatment of the
sublime, though we have only half done with the beauti-
ful, as we have considered its subjective side only. For
it was merely a special modification of this subjective
side that distinguished the beautiful from the sublime.
This difference was found to depend upon whether the
state of pure will-less knowing, which is presupposed
and demanded by all aesthetic contemplation, was reached
without opposition, by the mere disappearance of the will
from consciousness, because the object invited and drew
us towards it ; or whether it was only attained through
the free, conscious transcending of the will, to which the
object contemplated had an unfavourable and even hostile
relation, which would destroy contemplation altogether,
if we were to give ourselves up to it. This is the dis-
tinction between the beautiful and the sublima In the
object they are not essentially different, for in every case
the object of aesthetical contemplation is not the individual
thing, but the Idea in it which is striving to reveal itself;
that is to say, adequate objectivity of will at a particular
grade. Its necessary correlative, independent, like itself
of the principle of sufficient reason, is the pure subject
of knowing ; just as the correlative of the particular thing
is the knowing individual, both of which lie within the
province of the principle of sufficient reason.

When we say that a thing is beautiful, we thereby
assert that it is an object of our aesthetic contemplation,
and this has a double meaning; on the one hand it
means that the sight of the thing makes us objective, that
is to say, that in contemplating it we are no longer con-
scious of ourselves as individuals, but as pure will-less
subjects of knowledge ; and on the other hand it means
that we recognise in the object, not the particular thing,

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 271

but an Idea ; and this can only happen, so far as our
contemplation of it is not subordinated to the principle
of sufficient reason, does not follow the relation of the
object to anything outside it (which is always ultimately
connected with relations to our own will), but rests in
the object itself. For the Idea and the pure subject of
knowledge always appear at once in consciousness as
necessary correlatives, and on their appearance all dis-
tinction of time vanishes, for they are both entirely
foreign to the principle of sufficient reason in all its
forms, and lie outside the relations which are imposed
by it; they may be compared to the rainbow and the
sun, which have no part in the constant movement and
succession of the falling drops. Therefore, if, for example,^
I contemplate a tree aesthetically, i.e., with artistic eyes,
and thus recognise, not it, but its Idea, it becomes at once
of no consequence whether it is this tree or its predecessor
which flourished a thousand years ago, and whether the
observer is this individual or any other that lived any-
where and at any time; the particular thing and the
knowing individual are abolished with the principle of
sufficient reason, and there remains nothing but the Idea
and the pure subject of knowing, which together consti-
tute the adequate objectivity of will at this grade. And
the Idea dispenses not only with time, but also with ■
space, for the Idea proper is not this special form which
appears before me but its expression, its pure significance,
its inner being, which discloses itself to me and appeals
to me, and which may be quite the same though the
spatial relations of its form be very different.

Since, on the one hand, every given thing may be
observed in a purely objective manner and apart from
all relations ; and since, on the other hand, the will
manifests itself in everything at some grade of its ob- J
jectivity, so that everything is the expression of an Idea ;
it follows that everything is also beautiful. That even
the most insignificant things admit of pure objective and

272 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. iil

will-less contemplation, and thus prove that they are
beautiful, is shown by what was said above in this refer-
ence about the Dutch pictures of still-life (§ 38). But
one thing is more beautiful than another, because it
makes this pure objective contemplation easier, it lends
itself to it, and, so to speak, even compels it, and then
we call it very beautiful. This is the case sometimes
because, as an individual thing, it expresses in its purity
the Idea of its species by the very distinct, clearly de-
fined, and significant relation of its parts, and also fully
reveals that Idea through the completeness of all the
possible expressions of its species united in it, so that it
makes the transition from the individual thing to the
Idea, and therefore also the condition of pure contem-
plation, very easy for the beholder. Sometimes this pos-
session of special beauty in an object lies in the fact
^that the Idea itself which appeals to us in it is a
high grade of the objectivity of will, and therefore very
significant and expressive. Therefore it is that man is
more beautiful than all other objects, and the revelation
of his nature is the highest aim of art. Human form
and expression are the most important objects of plastic
art, and human action the most important object of
poetry. Yet each thing has its own peculiar beauty,
not only every organism which expresses itself in the
unity of an individual being, but also everything unor-
ganised and formless, and even every manufactured article.
For all these reveal the Ideas through which the will
objectifies itself at it lowest grades, they give, as it were,
the deepest resounding bass-notes of nature. Gravity,
rigidity, fluidity, light, and so forth, are the Ideas
which express themselves in rocks, in buildings, in
waters. Landscape-gardening or architecture can do no
more than assist them to unfold their qualities distinctly,
fully, and variously ; they can only give them the oppor-
tunity of expressing themselves purely, so that they lend
themselves to aesthetic contemplation and make it easier.

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 273

Inferior buildings or ill-favoured localities, on the con-
trary, which nature has neglected or art has spoiled,
perform this task in a very slight degree or not at all ;
yet even from them these universal, fundamental Ideas
of nature cannot altogether disappear. To the careful
observer they present themselves here also, and even bar'
buildings and the like are capable of being aesthetically
considered ; the Ideas of the most universal properties of
their materials are still recognisable in them, only the
artificial form which has been given them does not
assist but hinders aesthetic contemplation. Manufactured
articles also serve to express Ideas, only it is not the
Idea of the manufactured article which speaks in them,
but the Idea of the material to which this artificial form
has been given. This may be very conveniently ex-
pressed in two words, in the language of the schoolmen,
thus, — the manufactured article expresses the Idea of its
forma substantial, but not that of its forma accidentalis ;
the latter leads to no Idea, but only to a human concep-
tion of which it is the result. It is needless to say that
by manufactured article no work of plastic art is meant.
The schoolmen understand, in fact, by forma substantial™
that which I call the grade of the objectification of will
in a thing. We shall return immediately, when we treat
of architecture, to the Idea of the material. Our view,
then, cannot be reconciled with that of Plato if he is
of opinion that a table or a chair express the Idea
of a table or a chair (De Rep., x., pp. 284, 285, et
Parmen., p. 79, ed. Bip.), but we say that they express
the Ideas which are already expressed in their mere
material as such. According to Aristotle (Metap. xi.,
chap. 3), however, Plato himself only maintained Ideas
of natural objects : 0 IlXarcov 6<fyr], on 6*877 eariv oiroaa
<f>v<7€i (Plato dixit, quod idece eorum sunt, quce natura sunt),
and in chap. 5 he says that, according to the Platonists,
there are no Ideas of house and ring. In any case,
Plato's earliest disciples, as Alcinous informs us (Intro-
vol. 1. s

274 THE WORLD AS IDEA. BK. ill.

ductio in Platonicam rhilosophiam, chap. 9), denied that
there were any ideas of manufactured articles. He says:
'Opi^ovTat, Se ttjv ibeav, irapaBeiyfia tcov Kara <f>voiv
aicoviov. Ovre yap tow TrXeicrrow tcov otto ILXaTCOvos
apeatcei, tcov Tzyyinwv eivai t8ea?, oiov aaniho^ t] \vpas,
ovre firjv tcov irapa cf>vo~iv, oiov nrvpcTov km yoXepas,
ovre tcov kclto, fiepos, oiov XcotcpaTovs teat, IlXaTcovos,
cfiOC ovre tcov evTeKcov t«/o?, oiov pvnov Kai /capfovs,
ovt€ tcov 7rpo? ti} oiov fieityvos /cat virepe^ovTo^' eivai
yap Ta9 iScas vorjo-eis Beov aicoviov; t€ icai avTOTekei?
{Definiunt autem IDEAM exemplar ceternum eorum, qua
secundum naturam existunt. Nam plurimis ex iis} qui
Platonem secuti sunt, minime placuit, arte faciendum ideas
esse, ut clypei atque lyraz ; neque rursus eorum, quce prater
naturamf ut febris et cholera, neque particularium, ceu
Socratis et Platonis ; neque etiam rerum vilium, vehiti
sordium et festuca ; neque relationum, ut majoris et
excedentis : esse namque ideas intellectiones dei aternas,
ac seipsis perfectas). We may take this opportunity of
mentioning another point in which our doctrine of Ideas
differs very much from that of Plato. He teaches (De
Rep., x., p. 288) that the object which art tries to
express, the ideal of painting and poetry, is not the Idea
but the particular thing. Our whole exposition hitherto
has maintained exactly the opposite, and Plato's opinion
is the less likely to lead us astray, inasmuch as it is the
source of one of the greatest and best known errors of
this great man, his depreciation and rejection of art, and
especially poetry ; he directly connects his false judgment
in reference to this with the passage quoted.

§42. I return to the exposition of the aesthetic
impression. The knowledge of the beautiful always
supposes at once and inseparably the pure knowing
subject and the known Idea as object. Yet the source
of aesthetic satisfaction will sometimes lie more in the
comprehension of the known Idea, sometimes more in the
blessedness and spiritual peace of the pure knowing sub-

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 275

ject freed from all willing, and therefore from all individ-
uality, and the pain that proceeds from it. And, indeed,
this predominance of one or the other constituent part of
aesthetic feeling will depend upon whether the intuitively
grasped Idea is a higher or a lower grade of the objec-
tivity of will. Thus in aesthetic contemplation (in the
real, or through the medium of art) of the beauty of
nature in the inorganic and vegetable worlds, or in works
of architecture, the pleasure of pure will -less knowing
will predominate, because the Ideas which are here
apprehended are only low grades of the objectivity of
will, and are therefore not manifestations of deep signifi-
cance and rich content. On the other hand, if animals
and man are the objects of aesthetic contemplation or
representation, the pleasure will consist rather in the
comprehension of these Ideas, which are the most distinct
revelation of will ; for they exhibit the greatest multi-
plicity of forms, the greatest richness and deep significance
of phenomena, and reveal to us most completely the
nature of will, whether in its violence, its terribleness, its
satisfaction or its aberration (the latter in tragic situations),
or finally in its change and self-surrender, which is the_
peculiar theme of christian painting ; as the Idea of the
will enlightened by full knowledge is the object of
historical painting in general, and of the drama. We
shall now go through the fine arts one by one, and this
will give completeness and distinctness to the theory of
the beautiful which we have advanced.

§ 43. Matter as such cannot be the expression of an
Idea. For, as we found in the first book, it is throughout
nothing but casuality: its being consists in its casual
action. But casuality is a form of the principle of
sufficient reason ; knowledge of the Idea, on the other
hand, absolutely excludes the content of that principle.
We also found, in the second book, that matter is the
common substratum of all particular phenomena of the
Ideas, and consequently is the connecting link between

276 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. in

the Idea and the phenomenon, or the particular thing.
Accordingly for both of these reasons it is impossible that
matter can for itself express any Idea. This is confirmed
a posteriori by the fact that it is impossible to have a per-
ceptible idea of matter as such, but only an abstract
conception ; in the former, i.e., in perceptible ideas are
exhibited only the forms and qualities of which matter is
the supporter, and in all of which Ideas reveal themselves.
This corresponds also with the fact, that casuality (the
whole essence of matter) cannot for itself be presented
perceptibly, but is merely a definite casual connection.
On the other hand, every phenomenon of an Idea, because
as such it has entered the form of the principle of
sufficient reason, or the principium individuationis, must
exhibit itself in matter, as one of its qualities. So far
then matter is, as we have said, the connecting link
between the Idea and the principium individuationis, which
is the form of knowledge of the individual, or the prin-
ciple of sufficient reason. Plato is therefore perfectly
right in his enumeration, for after the Idea and the
phenomenon, which include all other things in the
world, he gives matter only, as a third thing which is
different from both (Timaus, p. 345). The individual,
as a phenomenon of the Idea, is always matter. Every
quality of matter is also the phenomenon of an Idea, and
as such it may always be an object of aesthetic contem-
plation, i.e., the Idea expressed in it may always be recog-
nised. This holds good of even the most universal
qualities of matter, without which it never appears, and
which are the weakest objectivity of will. Such are
gravity, cohesion, rigidity, fluidity, sensitiveness to light,
and so forth.

If now we consider architecture simply as a fine art
and apart from its application to useful ends, in which it
serves the will and not pure knowledge, and therefore
ceases to be art in our sense ; we can assign to it no
other aim than that of bringing to greater distinctness

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 277

some of those ideas, which are the lowest grades of the
objectivity of will ; such as gravity, cohesion, rigidity,
hardness, those universal qualities of stone, those first,
simplest, most inarticulate manifestations of will ; the bass
notes of nature; and after these light, which in many
respects is their opposite. Even at these low grades
of the objectivity of will we see its nature revealing
itself in discord ; for properly speaking the conflicc
between gravity and rigidity is the sole aesthetic material
of architecture; its problem is to make this conflict
appear with perfect distinctness in a multitude of different
ways. It solves it by depriving these indestructible
forces of the shortest way to their satisfaction, and con-
ducting them to it by a circuitous route, so that the con-
flict is lengthened and the inexhaustible efforts of both
forces become visible in many different ways. The whole
mass of the building, if left to its original tendency,
would exhibit a mere heap or clump, bound as closely as
possible to the earth, to which gravity, the form in which
the will appears here, continually presses, while rigidity,
also objectivity of will, resists. But this very tendency,
this effort, is hindered by architecture from obtaining
direct satisfaction, and only allowed to reach it indirectly
and by roundabout ways. The roof, for example, can
only press the earth through columns, the arch must sup-
port itself, and can only satisfy its tendency towards the
earth through the medium of the pillars, and so forth.
But just by these enforced digressions, just by these
restrictions, the forces which reside in the crude mass of
stone unfold themselves in the most distinct and multi-
farious ways ; and the purely sesthetic aim of architecture
can go no further than this. Therefore the beauty, at
any rate, of a building lies in the obvious adaptation of
every part, not to the outward arbitrary end of man (so
far the work belongs to practical architecture), but
directly to the stability of the whole, to which the posi-
tion, dimensions, and form of every part must have so

278 THE WORLD AS IDEA. BK. Ill

necessary a relation that, where it is possible, if any one
part were taken away, the whole would fall to pieces.
For just because each part bears just as much as it
conveniently can, and each is supported just where it
requires to be and just to the necessary extent, this
opposition unfolds itself, this conflict between rigidity and
gravity, which constitutes the life, the manifestation of will,
in the stone, becomes completely visible, and these lowest
grades of the objectivity of will reveal themselves dis-
tinctly. In the same way the form of each part must not
be determined arbitrarily, but by its end, and its relation
to the whole. The column is the simplest form of support,
determined simply by its end : the twisted column is taste-
less ; the four-cornered pillar is in fact not so simple as
the round column, though it happens that it is easier to
make it. The forms also of frieze, rafter, roof, and dome
are entirely determined by their immediate end, and
explain themselves from it. The decoration of capitals,
&c, belongs to sculpture, not to architecture, which
tidmits it merely as extraneous ornament, and could
dispense with it. According to what has been said, it is
absolutely necessary, in order to understand the aesthetic
satisfaction afforded by a work of architecture, to have
immediate knowledge through perception of its matter as
regards its weight, rigidity, and cohesion, and our pleasure
in such a work would suddenly be very much diminished
by the discovery that the material used was pumice-stone;
for then it would appear to us as a kind of sham build-
ing. We would be affected in almost the same way if
we were told that it was made of wood, when we had
supposed it to be of stone, just because this alters and
destroys the relation between rigidity and gravity, and
consequently the significance and necessity of all the
parts, for these natural forces reveal themselves in a far
weaker degree in a wooden building. Therefore no real
work of architecture as a fine art can be made of wood,
although it assumes all forms so easily ; this can only be

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. in

explained by our theory. If we were distinctly told that
a building, the sight of which gave us pleasure, was
made of different kinds of material of very unequal
weight and consistency, but not distinguishable to the
eye, the whole building would become as utterly inca-
pable of affording us pleasure as a poem in an unknown
language. All this proves that architecture does not
affect us mathematically, but also dynamically, and that
what speaks to us through it, is not mere form and
symmetry, but rather those fundamental forces of nature,
those first Ideas, those lowest grades of the objectivity
of will. The regularity of the building and its parts is
partly produced by the direct adaptation of each member
to the stability of the whole, partly it serves to facilitate
the survey and comprehension of the whole, and finally,
regular figures to some extent enhance the beauty be-
cause they reveal the constitution of space as such. But
all this is of subordinate value and necessity, and by no
means the chief concern ; indeed, symmetry is not in-
variably demanded, as ruins are still beautiful.

Works of architecture have further quite a special
relation to light; they gain a double beauty in the full
sunshine, with the blue sky as a background, and again
they have quite a different effect by moonlight. There-
fore, when a beautiful work of architecture is to be
erected, special attention is always paid to the effects of
the light and to the climate. The reason of all this is,
indeed, principally that all the parts and their relations
are only made clearly visible by a bright, strong light ;
but besides this I am of opinion that it is the function
of architecture to reveal the nature of light just as it
reveals that of things so opposite to it as gravity and
rigidity. For the light is intercepted, confined, and
reflected by the great opaque, sharply outlined, and
variously formed masses of stone, and thus it unfolds
its nature and qualities in the purest and clearest way,
to the great pleasure of the beholders, for light is the

2&> THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. iil

most joy-giving of things, as the condition and the
objective correlative of the most perfect kind of know-
ledge of perception.

Now, because the Ideas which architecture brings to
clear perception, are the lowest grades of the objectivity
of will, and consequently their objective significance,
which architecture reveals to us, is comparatively small ;
the aesthetic pleasure of looking at a beautiful building
in a good light will lie, not so much in the comprehen-
sion of the Idea, as in the subjective correlative which
accompanies this comprehension; it will consist pre-
eminently in the fact that the beholder, set free from the
kind of knowledge that belongs to the individual, and
which serves the will and follows the principle of suffi-
cient reason, is raised to that of the pure subject of
knowing free from will. It will consist then principally
in pure contemplation itself, free from all the suffering of
will and of individuality. In this respect the opposite
of architecture, and the other extreme of the series of
the fine arts, is the drama, which brings to knowledge
the most significant Ideas. Therefore in the aesthetic
pleasure afiorded by the drama the objective side is
throughout predominant.

-^ Architecture has this distinction from plastic art and
poetry : it does not give us a copy but the thing itself.
It does not repeat, as they do, the known Idea, so that
the artist lends his eyes to the beholder, but in it the artist
merely presents the object to the beholder, and facilitates
for him the comprehension of the Idea by bringing the
actual, individual object to a distinct and complete expres-
sion of its nature.

Unlike the works of the other arts, those of architec-
. ture are very seldom executed for purely aesthetic ends.
These are generally subordinated to other useful ends
which are foreign to art itself. Thus the great merit of
the architect consists in achieving and attaining the pure
aesthetic ends, in spite of their subordination to other

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 281

ends which are foreign to them. This he does by
cleverly adapting them in a variety of ways to the
arbitrary ends in view, and by rightly judging which form
of aesthetical architectonic beauty is compatible and may
be associated with a temple, which with a palace, which
with a prison, and so forth. The more a harsh climate
increases these demands of necessity and utility, deter-
mines them definitely, and prescribes them more inevi-
tably, the less free play has beauty in architecture. In
the mild climate of India, Egypt, Greece, and Eome,
where the demands of necessity were fewer and less
definite, architecture could follow its aesthetic ends with
the greatest freedom. But under a northern sky this
was sorely hindered. Here, when caissons, pointed roofs
and towers were what was demanded, architecture could
only unfold its own beauty within very narrow limits,
and therefore it was obliged to make amends by resorting
all the more to the borrowed ornaments of sculpture, as
is seen in Gothic architecture.

We thus see that architecture is greatly restricted by
the demands of necessity and utility ; but on the other
hand it has in them a very powerful support, for, on
account of the magnitude and costliness of its works, and
the narrow sphere of its aesthetic effect, it could not con-
tinue to exist merely as a fine art, if it had not also, as a
useful and necessary profession, a firm and honourable
place among the occupations of men. It is the want
of this that prevents another art from taking its place
beside architecture as a sister art, although in an
aesthetical point of view it is quite properly to be classed
along with it as its counterpart ; I mean artistic arrange-
ments of water. For what architecture accomplishes
for the Idea of gravity when it appears in connection
with that of rigidity, hydraulics accomplishes for the
same Idea, when it is connected with fluidity, i.e.,
formlessness, the greatest mobility and transparency.
Leaping waterfalls foaming and tumbling over rocks,

282 THE WORLD AS IDEA,

BK. III.

cataracts dispersed into floating spray, springs gushing
up as high columns of water, and clear reflecting lakes,
reveal the Ideas of fluid and heavy matter, in precisely
the same way as the works of architecture unfold the
Ideas of rigid matter. Artistic hydraulics, however,
obtains no support from practical hydraulics, for, as a
rule, their ends cannot be combined ; yet, in exceptional
cases, this happens ; for example, in the Cascata di Trevi
at Eome.1

§ 44. What the two arts we have spoken of accom-
plish for these lowest grades of the objectivity of will,
is performed for the higher grades of vegetable nature
I by artistic horticulture. The landscape beauty of a
scene consists, for the most part, in the multiplicity of
natural objects which are present in it, and then in the
fact that they are clearly separated, appear distinctly,
and yet exhibit a fitting connection and alternation.
These two conditions are assisted and promoted by land-
scape-gardening, but it has by no means such a mastery
over its material as architecture, and therefore its effect
is limited. The beauty with which it is concerned
belongs almost exclusively to nature ; it has done little
for it ; and, on the other hand, it can do little against
unfavourable nature, and when nature works, not for it,
but against it, its achievements are small.

The vegetable world offers itself everywhere for aesthe-
tic enjoyment without the medium of art ; but so far as
it is an object of art, it belongs principally to landscape-
/ painting ; to the province of which all the rest of uncon-
scious nature also belongs. In paintings of still life, and
of mere architecture, ruins, interiors of churches, &c, the
subjective side of aesthetic pleasure is predominant, i.e.,
our satisfaction does not lie principally in the direct com-
prehension of the represented Ideas, but rather in the
subjective correlative of this comprehension, pure, will-
less knowing. For, because the painter lets us see these

1 Cf. Chap. 35 of Supplement

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 283

things through his eyes, we at once receive a sympathe-
tic and reflected sense of the deep spiritual peace and
absolute silence of the will, which were necessary in
order to enter with knowledge so entirely into these life-
less objects, and comprehend them with such love, i.e.,
in this case with such a degree of objectivity. The effect
of landscape-painting proper is indeed, as a whole, of this
kind ; but because the Ideas expressed are more distinct
and significant, as higher grades of the objectivity of
will, the objective side of aesthetic pleasure already comes
more to the front and assumes as much importance as the
subjective side. Pure knowing as such is no longer the
paramount consideration, for we are equally affected by
the known Platonic Idea, the world as idea at an import-
ant grade of the objectification of will.

But a far higher grade is revealed by animal painting
and sculpture. Of the latter we have some important
antique remains ; for example, horses at Venice, on Monte
Cavallo, and on the Elgin Marbles, also at Florence in
bronze and marble; the ancient boar, howling wolves,
the lions in the arsenal at Venice, also in the Vatican a
whole room almost filled with ancient animals, &c. In
these representations the objective side of aesthetic plea-
sure obtains a marked predominance over the subjective.
The peace of the subject which knows these Ideas, which
has silenced its own will, is indeed present, as it is in all
aesthetic contemplation ; but its effect is not felt, for we
are occupied with the restlessness and impetuosity of the
will represented. It is that very will, which constitutes
our own nature, that here appears to us in forms, in
which its manifestation is not, as in us, controlled and
tempered by intellect, but exhibits itself in stronger
traits, and with a distinctness that borders on the
grotesque and monstrous. For this very reason there is
no concealment ; it is free, naive, open as the day, and
this is the cause of our interest in animals. The charac-
teristics of species appeared already in the representation

284 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. iil

of plants, but showed itself only in the forms ; here it
becomes much more distinct, and expresses itself not only
in the form, but in the action, position, and mien, yet
always merely as the character of the species, not of
the individual. This knowledge of the Ideas of higher
grades, which in painting we receive through extraneous
means, we may gain directly by the pure contemplative
perception of plants, and observation of beasts, and indeed
of the latter in their free, natural, and unrestrained state.
The objective contemplation of their manifold and mar-
vellous forms, and of their actions and behaviour, is an
instructive lesson from the great book of nature, it is a
deciphering of the true signatura rerum.1 We see in
them the manifold grades and modes of the manifestation
of will, which in all beings of one and the same grade,
wills always in the same way, which objectifies itself as
life, as existence in such endless variety, and such diffe-
rent forms, which are all adaptations to the different
external circumstances, and may be compared to many
variations on the same theme. But if we had to com-
municate to the observer, for reflection; and in a word,
the explanation of their inner nature, it would be best to
make use of that Sanscrit formula which occurs so often
in the sacred books of the Hindoos, and is called Maha-
vakya, ie.y the great word : " Tat twam asi" which means,
" this living thing art thou."

§ 45. The great problem of historical painting and
sculpture is to express directly and for perception the
Idea in which the will reaches the highest grade of its
objectification. The objective side of the pleasure
afforded by the beautiful is here always predominant,

1 Jakob Bbhm in his book, " de this is the language of nature when

Signatura Rerum," ch. i.f § 13-15, everything speaks out of its own

eays, " There is nothing in nature property, and continually manifests

that does not manifest its internal and declares itself, ... for each

form externally ; for the internal thing reveals its mother, which thus

continually labours to manifest it- gives the essence and the will to the

■elf. . . . Everything has its language form,
by which to reveal itself. . . . And

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 285

and the subjective side has retired into the background.
It is further to be observed that at the next grade below
this, animal painting, the characteristic is entirely one
with the beautiful; the most characteristic lion, wolf,
horse, sheep, or ox, was always the most beautiful also.
The reason of this is that animals have only the character
of their species, no individual character. In the repre-
sentation of men the character of the species is separated
from that of the individual ; the former is now called
beauty (entirely in the objective sense), but the latter
retains the name, character, or expression, and the new
difficulty arises of representing both, at once and com-
pletely, in the same individual.

Human beauty is an objective expression, which means
i^the fullest objectifi cation of will at the highest grade at
which it is knowable, the Idea of man in general, com-
pletely expressed in the sensible form. But however
much the objective side of the beautiful appears here,
the subjective side still always accompanies it. And just
because no object transports us so quickly into pure
{esthetic contemplation, as the most beautiful human
countenance and form, at the sight of which we are
instantly filled with unspeakable satisfaction, and raised
above ourselves and all that troubles us ; this is only
possible because this most distinct and purest knowledge
of will raises us most easily and quickly to the state of
pure knowing, in which our personality, our will with its
constant pain, disappears, so long as the pure aesthetic
pleasure lasts. Therefore it is that Goethe says : " No
evil can touch him who looks on human beauty ; he feels
himself at one with himself and with the world." That
a beautiful human form is produced by nature must be
explained in this way. At this its highest grade the will
objectifies itself in an individual ; and therefore through
circumstances and its own power it completely overcomes
all the hindrances and opposition which the phenomena
of the lower grades present to it. Such are the forces

286 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. hi.

of nature, from which the will must always first extort
and win back the matter that belongs to all its mani-
festations. Further, the phenomenon of will at its
higher grades always has multiplicity in its form. Even
the tree is only a systematic aggregate of innumerably
repeated sprouting fibres. This combination assumes
greater complexity in higher forms, and the human body
is an exceedingly complex system of different parts, each
of which has a peculiar life of its own, vita propria, sub-
ordinate to the whole. Now that all these parts are in
the proper fashion subordinate to the whole, and co-
ordinate to each other, that they all work together
harmoniously for the expression of the whole, nothing
superfluous, nothing restricted; all these are the rare
conditions, whose result is beauty, the completely ex-
pressed character of the species. So is it in nature.
But how in art ? One would suppose that art achieved
the beautiful by imitating nature. But how is the artist
to recognise the perfect work which is to be imitated,
and distinguish it from the failures, if he does not antici-
pate the beautiful before experience* And besides this,
has nature ever produced a human being perfectly
beautiful in all his parts? It has accordingly been
thought that the artist must seek out the beautiful parts,
distributed among a number of different human beings,
and out of them construct a beautiful whole ; a perverse
and foolish opinion. For it will be asked, how is he to
know that just these forms and not others are beautiful ?
We also see what kind of success attended the efforts
of the old German painters to achieve the beautiful by
imitating nature. Observe their naked figures. No
knowledge of the beautiful is possible purely a pos-
teriori, and from mere experience ; it is always, at least
in part, a priori, although quite different in kind, from
the forms of the principle of sufficient reason, of which
we are conscious a priori. These concern the universal
form of phenomena as such, as it constitutes the possi-

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 287

bility of knowledge in general, the universal how of all
phenomena, and from this knowledge proceed mathe-
matics and pure natural science. But this other kind of
knowledge a priori, which makes it possible to express
the beautiful, concerns, not the form but the content of
phenomena, not the how but the what of the phenomenon.
That we all recognise human beauty when we see it, but
that in the true artist this takes place with such clear-
ness that he shows it as he has never seen it, and sur-

/ passes nature in his representation ; this is only possible
because we ourselves are the will whose adequate objecti-
fication at its highest grade is here to be judged and
discovered. Thus alone have we in fact an anticipation
of that which nature (which is just the will that consti-
tutes our own being) strives to express. And in the true
genius this anticipation is accompanied by so great a
degree of intelligence that he recognises the Idea in the
particular thing, and thus, as it were, understands the

\ half-uttered speech of nature, and articulates clearly what
she only stammered forth. He expresses in the hard
marble that beauty of form which in a thousand attempts
jshe failed to produce, he presents it to nature, saying, as
it were, to her, " That is what you wanted to say !" And
whoever is able to judge replies, " Yes, that is it." Only
in this way was it possible for the genius of the Greeks
to find the type of human beauty and establish it as a
canon for the school of sculpture ; and only by virtue of
such an anticipation is it possible for all of us to recog-
nise beauty, when it has actually been achieved by nature
in the particular case. This anticipation is the Ideal.
It is the Idea so far as it is known a priori, at least half,
and it becomes practical for art, because it corresponds
to and completes what is given a posteriori through
nature. The possibility of such an anticipation of the
beautiful a priori in the artist, and of its recognition a
posteriori by the critic, lies in the fact that the artist and
the critic are themselves the "in-itself " of nature, the

288 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. hi.

will which objectifies itself. For, as Empedocles said,
like can only be known by like : only nature can under-
stand itself: only nature can fathom itself: but only
spirit also can understand spirit.1

The opinion, which is absurd, although expressed by
the Socrates of Xenophon (Stobsei Floril, vol. ii. p. 384)
that the Greeks discovered the established ideal of human
beauty empirically, by collecting particular beautiful parts,
uncovering and noting here a knee, there an arm, has an
exact parallel in the art of poetry. The view is enter-
tained, that Shakespeare, for example, observed, and then
gave forth from his own experience of life, the innumer-
able variety of the characters in his dramas, so true,
so sustained, so profoundly worked out. The impos-
sibility and absurdity of such an assumption need not
be dwelt upon. It is obvious that the man of genius
produces the works of poetic art by means of an
anticipation of what is characteristic, just as he pro-
duces the works of plastic and pictorial art by means
of a prophetic anticipation of the beautiful; yet both
require experience as a pattern or model, for thus alone
can that which is dimly known a priori be called into
clear consciousness, and an intelligent representation of
it becomes possible.

Human beauty was explained above as the fullest
objectification of will at the highest grade at which it
is knowable. It expresses itself through the form ; and
this lies in space alone, and has no necessary connection
with time, as, for example, motion has. Thus far then
we may say : the adequate objectification of will through
a merely spatial phenomenon is beauty, in the objective
sense. A plant is nothing but such a merely spatial

1 The last sentence is the German fluence of the Hegelian sophistry,

of the il riy a que VesprU qui sente that some might quite likely say that

Vcitprit, of Helvetius. In the first an antithesis was intended here be-

edition there was no occasion to tween "spirit and nature." I am

point this out, but since then the therefore obliged to guard myself in

age has become so degraded and express terms against the suspicion

ignorant through the stupefying in- of such vulgar sophisms.

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 289

phenomenon of will; for no motion, and consequently
no relation to time (regarded apart from its development),
belongs to the expression of its nature ; its mere form
expresses its whole being and displays it openly. But
brutes and men require, further, for the full revelation of
the will which is manifested in them, a series of actions,
and thus the manifestation in them takes on a direct
relation to time. All this has already been explained in
the preceding book ; it is related to what we are con-
sidering at present in the following way. As the merely
spatial manifestation of will can objectify it fully or
defectively at each definite grade, — and it is this which
constitutes beauty or ugliness, — so the temporal objecti-
fication of will, i.e.t the action, and indeed the direct
action, the movement, may correspond to the will, which
objectifies itself in it, purely and fully without foreign
admixture, without superfluity, without defect, only ex-
pressing exactly the act of will determined in each case ;
— or the converse of all this may occur. In the first
case the movement is made with grace, in the second
case without it. Thus as beauty is the adequate repre-
sentation of will generally, through its merely spatial
manifestation ; grace is the adequate representation of will
through its temporal manifestation, that is to say, the
perfectly accurate and fitting expression of each act of
will, through the movement and position which objectify
it. Since movement and position presuppose the body,
Winckelmann's expression is very true and suitable,
when he says, " Grace is the proper relation of the acting
person to the action" (Works, vol. i. p. 258). It is
thus evident that beauty may be attributed to a plant,
but no grace, unless in a figurative sense ; but to brutes
and men, both beauty and grace. Grace consists, accord-
ing to what has been said, in every movement being
performed, and every position assumed, in the easiest,
most appropriate and convenient way, and therefore
being the pure, adequate expression of its intention, or of
vol. I. T

290 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. III.

the act of will, without any superfluity, which exhibits
itself as aimless, meaningless bustle, or as wooden stiff-
ness. Grace presupposes as its condition a true pro-
portion of all the limbs, and a symmetrical, harmonious
figure ; for complete ease and evident appropriateness of
all positions and movements are only possible by means
of these. Grace is therefore never without a certain
degree of beauty of person. The two, complete and united,
are the most distinct manifestation of will at the highest
grade of its objectification.

It was mentioned above that in order lightly to por-
tray man, it is necessary to separate the character of the
species from that of the individual, so that to a certain
extent every man expresses an Idea peculiar to himself,
as was said in the last book. Therefore the arts whose
aim is the representation of the Idea of man, have as
their problem, not only beauty, the character of the
species, but also the character of the individual, which is
called, par excellence, character. But this is only the case
in so far as this character is to be regarded, not as some-
thing accidental and quite peculiar to the man as a
single individual, but as a side of the Idea of humanity
which is specially apparent in this individual, and the
representation of which is therefore of assistance in
revealing this Idea. Thus the character, although as
such it is individual, must yet be Ideal, that is, its signi-
ficance in relation to the Idea of humanity generally (the
objectifying of which it assists in its own way) must be
comprehended and expressed with special prominence.
Apart from this the representation is a portrait, a copy of
the individual as such, with all his accidental qualities.
And even the portrait ought to be, as Winckelmann says,
the ideal of the individual.

That cfiaracter which is to be ideally comprehended,
as the prominence of a special side of the Idea of hu-
manity, expresses itself visibly, partly through permanent
physiognomy and bodily form, partly through passing

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 291

emotion and passion, the reciprocal modification of know-
ing and willing by each other, which is all exhibited in
the mien and movements. Since the individual always
belongs to humanity, and, on the other hand, humanity
always reveals itself in the individual with what is
indeed peculiar ideal significance, beauty must not be
destroyed by character nor character by beauty. For if
the character of the species is annulled by that of the
individual, the result is caricature ; and if the character of
the individual is annulled by that of the species, the
result is an absence of meaning. Therefore the repre-
sentation which aims at beauty, as sculpture principally
does, will yet always modify this (the character of the
species), in some respect, by the individual character, and
will always express the Idea of man in a definite indi-
vidual manner, giving prominence to a special side of it.
For the human individual as such has to a certain extent
the dignity of a special Idea, and it is essential to the
Idea of man that it should express itself in individuals
of special significance. Therefore we find in the works
of the ancients, that the beauty distinctly comprehended
by them, is not expressed in one form, but in many
forms of different character. It is always apprehended,
as it were, from a different side, and expressed in one
way in Apollo, in another way in Bacchus, in another in
Hercules, in another in Antinous ; indeed the character-
istic may limit the beautiful, and finally extend even to
hideousness, in the drunken Silenus, in the Faun, &c.
If the characteristic goes so far as actually to annul the
character of the species, if it extends to the unnatural, it
becomes caricuture. But we can far less afford to allow
grace to be interfered with by what is characteristic than
even beauty, for graceful position and movement are
demanded for the expression of the character also ; but
yet it must be achieved in the way which is most fitting,
appropriate, and easy for the person. This will be
observed, not only by the sculptor and the painter, but

292 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. hi.

also by every good actor ; otherwise caricature will appear
here also as grimace or distortion.

In sculpture, beauty and grace are the principal concern.
The special character of the mind, appearing in emotion,
passion, alternations of knowing and willing, which can
only be represented by the expression of the countenance
and the gestures, is the peculiar sphere of painting. For
although eyes and colour, which lie outside the province
of sculpture, contribute much to beauty, they are yet far
more essential to character. Further, beauty unfolds it-
self more completely when it is contemplated from various
points of view ; but the expression, the character, can only
be completely comprehended from one point of view.

Because beauty is obviously the chief aim of sculpture,
Lessing tried to explain the fact that the Laocoon does not
cry out, by saying that crying out is incompatible with
beauty. The Laocoon formed for Lessing the theme, or
at least the text of a work of his own, and both before
and after him a great deal has been written on the sub-
ject I may therefore be allowed to express my views
about it in passing, although so special a discussion does
not properly belong to the scheme of this work, which is
throughout concerned with what is general.

§ 46. That Laocoon, in the celebrated £roup, does not
cry out is obvious, and the universal and ever-renewed
surprise at this must be occasioned by the fact that any
of us would cry out if we were in his place. And nature
demands that it should be so ; for in the case of the
acutest physical pain, and the sudden seizure by the
greatest bodily fear, all reflection, that might have
inculcated silent endurance, is entirely expelled from
consciousness, and nature relieves itself by crying out,
thus expressing both the pain and the fear, summoning
the deliverer and terrifying the assailer. Thus Winckel-
mann missed the expression of crying out; but as he
wished to justify the artist he turned Laocoon into a
Stoic, who considered it beneath his dignity to cry out

THE PLATONIC IDEA: THE OBJECT OF ART. 293

secundum naturam, but added to his pain the useless
constraint of suppressing all utterance of it. Winckel-
mann therefore sees in him " the tried spirit of a great
man, who writhes in agony, and yet seeks to suppress
the utterance of his feeling, and to lock it up in himself.
He does not break forth into loud cries, as in Virgil, but
only anxious sighs escape him," &c. (Works, vol. vii.
p. 98, and at greater length in vol. vi. p. 104). Now
Lessing criticised this opinion of Winckelmann's in his
Laocoon, and improved it in the way mentioned above.
In place of the psychological he gave the purely aesthetic
reason that beauty, the principle of ancient art, does not
admit of the expression of crying out. Another argu-
ment which he added to this, that a merely passing state
incapable of duration ought not to be represented in
motionless works of art, has a hundred examples of most
excellent figures against it, which are fixed in merely
transitory movements, dancing, wrestling, catching, &c.
Indeed Goethe, in the essay on the Laocoon, which
opens the Propylaen (p. 8), holds that the choice of
such a merely fleeting movement is absolutely necessary.
In our own day Hirt (Horen, 1797, tenth St.) finally
decided the point, deducing eveiything from the highest
truth of expression, that Laocoon does not cry out,
because he can no longer do so, as he is at the point
of death from choking. Lastly, Fernow ("Komische
Studien," vol i. p. 246) expounded and weighed all
these opinions; he added, however, no new one of his
own, but combined these three eclectically.

I cannot but wonder that such thoughtful and acute
men should laboriously bring far-fetched and insufficient
reasons, should resort to psychological and physiological
arguments, to explain a matter the reason of which lies
so near at hand, and is obvious at once to the unpre-
judiced ; and especially I wonder that Lessing, who came
so near the true explanation, should yet have entirely
\ missed the real point.

294 THE WORLD AS IDEA. BK. ill.

Before all psychological and physiological inquiries as
to whether Laocoon would cry out in his position or not
(and I certainly affirm that he would), it must be decided
as regards the group in question, that crying out ought
not to be expressed in it, for the simple reason that its
expression lies quite outside the province of sculpture.
A shrieking Laocoon could not be produced in marble,
but only a figure with the mouth open vainly endeavour-
ing to shriek ; a Laocoon whose voice has stuck in his
* throat, vox faucibus haesit. The essence of shrieking,
\ and consequently its effect upon the onlooker, lies entirely
Mn sound; not in the distortion of the mouth. This
phenomenon, which necessarily accompanies shrieking,
derives motive and justification only from the sound
produced by means of it; then it is permissible and
indeed necessary, as characteristic of the action, even
though it interferes with beauty. But in plastic art, to
which the representation of shrieking is quite foreign and
impossible, it would be actual folly to represent the
medium of violent shrieking, the distorted mouth, which
would disturb all the features and the remainder of the
expression ; for thus at the sacrifice of many other things
the means would be represented, while its end, the
shrieking itself, and its effect upon our feelings, would
be left out. Nay more, there would be produced the
spectacle of a continuous effort without effect, which is
always ridiculous, and may really be compared to what
happened when some one for a joke stopped the horn of
a night watchman with wax while he was asleep, and
then awoke him with the cry of fire, and amused him-
self by watching his vain endeavours to blow the horn.
When, on the other hand, the expression of shrieking lies
in the province of poetic or histrionic art, it is quite
admissible, because it helps to express the truth, i.e., the
complete expression of the Idea. Thus it is with poetry,
which claims the assistance of the imagination of the
reader, in order to enable it to represent things percep-

THE PLATONIC IDEA: THE OBJECT OF ART. 295

tibly. Therefore Virgil makes Laocoon cry out like the
bellowing of an ox that has broken loose after being
struck by the axe; and Homer (II. xx. 48—53) makes
Mars and Minerva shriek horribly, without derogating
from their divine dignity or beauty. The same with
acting; Laocoon on the stage would certainly have to
shriek. Sophocles makes Philoctetus cry out, and, on
the ancient stage at any rate, he must actually have
done so. As a case in point, I remember having seen in
London the great actor Kemble play in a piece called
Pizarro, translated from the German. He took the part
of the American, a half-savage, but of very noble char-
acter. When he was wounded he cried out loudly and
wildly, which had a great and admirable effect, for it was
exceedingly characteristic and therefore assisted the truth
of the representation very much. On the other hand, a
painted or sculptured model of a man shrieking, would
be much more absurd than the painted music which is
censured in Goethe's Propylaen. For shrieking does far
more injury to the expression and beauty of the whole
than music, which at the most only occupies the hands
and arms, and is to be looked upon as an occupation
characteristic of the person ; indeed thus far it may quite
rightly be painted, as long as it demands no violent
movement of the body, or distortion of the mouth : for
example, St. Cecilia at the organ, Raphael's violin-player
in the Sciarra Gallery at Rome, and others. Since then,
on account of the limits of the art, the pain of Laocoon
must not be expressed by shrieking, the artist was
obliged to employ every other expression of pain ; this
he has done in the most perfect manner, as is ably de-
scribed by Winckelmann (Works, vol. vi. p. 104), whose
admirable account thus retains its full value and truth, as
soon as we abstract from the stoical view which under-
lies it.1

1 This digression is worked out more fully in the 36th Chapter of the.
Supplement.

296 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. iil

§ 47. Because beauty accompanied with grace is the
principal object of sculpture, it loves nakedness, and
allows clothing only so far as it does not conceal the
form. It makes use of drapery, not as a covering, but as
a means of exhibiting the form, a method of exposition
that gives much exercise to the understanding, for it
can only arrive at a perception of the cause, the form
of the body, through the only directly given effect,
the drapery. Thus to a certain extent drapery is in
sculpture what fore-shortening is in painting. Both are
suggestions, yet not symbolical, but such that, if they
are successful, they force the understanding directly to
perceive what is suggested, just as if it were actually
given.

I may be allowed, in passing, to insert here a com-
parison that is very pertinent to the arts we are discuss-
ing. It is this : as the beautiful bodily form is seen to
the greatest advantage when clothed in the lightest way,
or indeed without any clothing at all, and therefore a
very handsome man, if he had also taste and the courage
to follow it, would go about almost naked, clothed only
after the manner of the ancients ; so every one who pos-
sesses a beautiful and rich mind will always express
himself in the most natural, direct, and simple way, con-
cerned, if it be possible, to communicate his thoughts to
others, and thus relieve the loneliness that he must feel
in such a world as this. And conversely, poverty of
mind, confusion, and perversity of thought, will clothe
itself in the most far-fetched expressions and the
obscurest forms of speech, in order to wrap up in difficult
and pompous phraseology small, trifling, insipid, or
commonplace thoughts; like a man who has lost the
majesty of beauty, and trying to make up for the
deficiency by means of clothing, seeks to hide the
insignificance or ugliness of his person under barbaric
finery, tinsel, feathers, ruffles, cuffs, and mantles. Many
an author, if compelled to translate his pompous and

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 297

obscure book into its little clear content, would be as
utterly spoilt as this man if he had to go naked.

§ 48. Historical painting has for its principal object,
besides beauty and grace, character. By character we
mean generally, the representation of will at the highest
grade of its objectification, when the individual, as giving
prominence to a particular side of the Idea of humanity,
has special significance, and shows this not merely by his
form, but makes it visible in his bearing and occupation,
by action of every kind, and the modifications of knowing
and willing that occasion and accompany it. The Idea
of man must be exhibited in these circumstances, and
therefore the unfolding of its many-sidedness must be
brought before our eyes by means of representative
individuals, and these individuals can only be made
visible in their significance through various scenes, events,
and actions. This is the endless problem of the histori-
cal painter, and he solves it by placing before us scenes
of life of every kind, of greater or less significance. No
individual and no action can be without significance ; in
all and through all the Idea of man unfolds itself more
and more. Therefore no event of human life is excluded
from the sphere of painting. It is thus a great injustice
to the excellent painters of the Dutch school, to prize
merely their technical skill, and to look down upon them
in other respects, because, for the most part, they repre-
sent objects of common life, whereas it is assumed that
only the events of the history of the world, or the inci-
dents of biblical story, have significance. We ought first
to bethink ourselves that the inward significance of an
action is quite different from its outward significance, and
that these are often separated from each other. The
outward significance is the importance of an action in
relation to its result for and in the actual world ; thus
according to the principle of sufficient reason. The
inward significance is the depth of the insight into
the Idea of man which it reveals, in that it brings

298 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. ill.

to light sides of that Idea which rarely appear, by
making individuals who assert themselves distinctly
and decidedly, disclose their peculiar characteristics by
means of appropriately arranged circumstances. Only
the inward significance concerns art; the outward be-
longs to history. They are both completely independent
of each other ; they may appear together, but may each
appear alone. An action which is of the highest signi-
ficance for history may in inward significance be a very
ordinary and common one ; and conversely, a scene of
ordinary daily life may be of great inward significance, if
human individuals, and the inmost recesses of human
action and will, appear in it in a clear and distinct light.
Further, the outward and the inward significance of a
scene may be equal and yet very different. Thus, for
example, it is all the same, as far as inward significance
is concerned, whether ministers discuss the fate of coun-
tries and nations over a map, or boors wrangle in a beer-
house over cards and dice, just as it is all the same
whether we play chess with golden or wooden pieces.
But apart from this, the scenes and events that make up
the life of so many millions of men, their actions, their
sorrows, their joys, are on that account important enough
to be the object of art, and by their rich variety they
must afford material enough for unfolding the many-sided
Idea of man. Indeed the very transitoriness of the moment
which art has fixed in such a picture (now called genre-
painting) excites a slight and peculiar sensation; for
to fix the fleeting, ever-changing world in the enduring
picture of a single event, which yet represents the whole,
is an achievement of the art of painting by which it
seems to bring time itself to a standstill, for it raises the
individual to the Idea of its species. Finally, the histo-
rical and outwardly significant subjects of painting have
often the disadvantage that just what is significant in
them cannot be presented to perception, but must be
arrived at by thought. In this respect the nominal

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 299

significance of the picture must be distinguished from its
real significance. The former is the outward significance,
which, however, can only be reached as a conception ; the
latter is that side of the Idea of man which is made
visible to the onlooker in the picture. For example,
Moses found by the Egyptian princess is the nominal
significance of a painting ; it represents a moment of the
greatest importance in history ; the real significance, on
the other hand, that which is really given to the onlooker,
is a foundling child rescued from its floating cradle by a
great lady, an incident which may have happened more
than once. The costume alone can here indicate the
particular historical case to the learned ; but the costume
is only of importance to the nominal signifiance, and is a
matter of indifference to the real significance ; for the
latter knows only the human being as such, not the
arbitrary forms. Subjects taken from history have no
advantage over those which are taken from mere pos-
sibility, and which are therefore to be called, not indi-
vidual, but merely general. For what is peculiarly
significant in the former is not the individual, not the
particular event as such, but the universal in it, the side
of the Idea of humanity which expresses itself through
it. But, on the other hand, definite historical subjects
are not on this account to be rejected, only the really
artistic view of such subjects, both in the painter and
in the beholder, is never directed to the individual par-
ticulars in them, which properly constitute the historical,
but to the universal which expresses itself in them, to
the Idea. And only those historical subjects are to be
chosen the chief point of which can actually be repre-
sented, and not merely arrived at by thou^iit, otherwise
the nominal significance is too remote from the real;
what is merely thought in connection with the picture
becomes of most importance, and interferes with what is
perceived. If even on the stage it is not right that the
chief incident of the plot should take place behind the

3oo THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. hi.

scenes (as in French tragedies), it is clearly a far greater
fault in a picture. Historical subjects are distinctly
disadvantageous only when they confine the painter to
a field which has not been chosen for artistic but for
other reasons, and especially when this field is poor in
picturesque and significant objects — if, for example, it is
the history of a small, isolated, capricious, hierarchical
(i.e., ruled by error), obscure people, like the Jews, despised
by the great contemporary nations of the East and the
West Since the wandering of the tribes lies between us
and all ancient nations, as the change of the bed of the
ocean lies between the earth's surface as it is to-day and
as it was when those organisations existed which we only
know from fossil remains, it is to be regarded generally as
a great misfortune that the people whose culture was to
be the principal basis of our own were not the Indians or
the Greeks, or even the Eomans, but these very Jews.
But it was especially a great misfortune for the Italian
painters of genius in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries
that, in the narrow sphere to which they were arbitrarily
driven for the choice of subjects, they were obliged to have
recourse to miserable beings of every kind. For the New
Testament, as regards its historical part, is almost more
unsuitable for painting than the Old, and the subsequent
history of martyrs and doctors of the church is a very
unfortunate subject. Yet of the pictures, whose subject
is the history or mythology of Judaism and Christianity,
we must carefully distinguish those in which the peculiar,
i.e., the ethical spirit of Christianity is revealed for per-
ception, by the representation of men who are full of
this spirit. These representations are in fact the highest
and most admirable achievements of the art of painting ;
and only the greatest masters of this art succeeded in
this, particularly Raphael and Correggio, and especially
in their earlier pictures. Pictures of this kind are not
properly to be classed as historical : for, as a rule, they
represent no event, no action ; but are merely groups of

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 301

saints, with the Saviour himself, often still a child, with His
mother, angels, &c. In their countenances, and especially
in the eyes, we see the expression, the reflection, of the
completest knowledge, that which is not directed to par-
ticular things, but has fully grasped the Ideas, and thus
the whole nature of the world and life. And this know-
ledge in them, reacting upon the will, does not, like other
knowledge, convey motives to it, but on the contrary has
become a quieter of all will, from which proceeded the
complete resignation, which is the innermost spirit of
Christianity, as of the Indian philosophy ; the surrender
of all volition, conversion, the suppression of will, and
with it of the whole inner being of this world, that is to
say, salvation. Thus these masters of art, worthy of
eternal praise, expressed perceptibly in their works the
highest wisdom. And this is the summit of all art. It
has followed the will in its adequate objectivity, the
Ideas, through all its grades, in which it is affected and
its nature unfolded in so many ways, first by causes,
then by stimuli, and finally by motives. And now art
ends with the representation of the free self-suppression
of will, by means of the great peace which it gains from
the perfect knowledge of its own nature.1

§ 49. The truth which lies at the foundation of all
that we have hitherto said about art, is that the object of
art, the representation of which is the aim of the artist,
and the knowledge of which must therefore precede his
work as its germ and source, is an Idea in Plato's sense,
and never anything else ; not the particular thing, the
object of common apprehension, and not the concept, the
object of rational thought and of science. Although the
Idea and the concept have something in common, because
both represent as unity a multiplicity of real things ; yet
the great difference between them has no doubt been
made clear and evident enough by what we have said

1 In order to understand this passage it is necessary to have read the
whole of the next book.

3<>2 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

BK. III.

about concepts in the first book, and about Ideas in this
book. I by no means wish to assert, however, that Plato
really distinctly comprehended this difference; indeed many
of his examples of Ideas, and his discussions of them, are
applicable only to concepts. Meanwhile we leave this
question alone and go on our own way, glad when we
come upon traces of any great and noble mind, yet not
following his footsteps but our own aim. The concept is
abstract, discursive, undetermined within its own sphere,
only determined by its limits, attainable and comprehen-\/
sible by him who has only reason, communicable by
words without any other assistance, entirely exhausted
by its definition. The Idea on the contrary, although
denned as the adequate representative of the concept, is
always object of perception, and although representing
an infinite number of particular things, is yet thoroughly
determined. It is never known by the individual as
such, but only by him who has raised himself above all
willing and all individuality to the pure subject of know-
ing. Thus it is only attainable by the man of genius,
and by him who, for the most part through the assistance
of the works of genius, has reached an exalted frame of
mind, by increasing his power of pure knowing. It is
therefore not absolutely but only conditionally communi-
cable, because the Idea, comprehended and repeated in
the work of art, appeals to every one only according to
the measure of his own intellectual worth. So that just
the most excellent works of every art, the noblest pro-
ductions of genius, must always remain sealed books to
the dull majority of men, inaccessible to them, separated
from them by a wide gulf, just as the society of princes
is inaccessible to the common people. It is true that
even the dullest of them accept on authority recognisedly
great works, lest otherwise they should argue their
own incompetence; but they wait in silence, always
ready to express their condemnation, as soon as they are
allowed to hope that they may do so without being left

THE PLATONIC IDEA: THE OBJECT OF ART. 303

to stand alone; and then their long-restrained hatred
against all that is great and beautiful, and against the
authors of it, gladly relieves itself; for such things never
appealed to them, and for that very reason were humili-
ating to them. For as a rule a man must have worth in
himself in order to recognise it and believe in it willingly
and freely in others. On this rests the necessity of
modesty in all merit, and the disproportionately loud
praise of this virtue, which alone of all its sisters is
always included in the eulogy of every one who ventures
to praise any distinguished man, in order to appease and
quiet the wrath of the unworthy. What then is modesty
but hypocritical humility, by means of which, in a world
swelling with base envy, a man seeks to obtain pardon
for excellences and merits from those who have none ?
For whoever attributes to himself no merits, because he
actually has none, is not modest but merely honest.

The Idea is the unity that falls into multiplicity on
account of the temporal and spatial form of our intuitive
apprehension ; the concept, on the contrary, is the unity
reconstructed out of multiplicity by the abstraction of
our reason ; the latter may be defined as unitas post rem,
the former as unitas ante rem. Finally, we may express
the distinction between the Idea and the concept, by a
comparison, thus : the concept is like a dead receptacle,
in which, whatever has been put, actually lies side by
side, but out of which no more can be taken (by analyti-
cal judgment) than was put in (by synthetical reflec-
tion) ; the (Platonic) Idea, on the other hand, develops,
in him who has comprehended it, ideas which are new as
regards the concept of the same name; it resembles a
living organism, developing itself and possessed of the
power of reproduction, which brings forth what was not
put into it.

It follows from all that has been said, that the
concept, useful as it is in life, and serviceable, necessary
and productive as it is in science, is yet always barren

3©4 THE WORLD AS IDEA. BK. hi.

and unfruitful in art. The comprehended Idea, on the
contrary, is the true and only source of every work of
art In its powerful originality it is only derived from
life itself, from nature, from the world, and that only
by the true genius, or by him whose momentary inspira-
tion reaches the point of genius. Genuine and immortal
works of art spring only from such direct apprehension.
Just because the Idea is and remains object of percep-
tion, the artist is not conscious in the abstract of the
intention and aim of liis work ; not a concept, but an
Idea floats before his mind ; therefore he can give no
justification of what he does. He works, as people say,
from pure feeling, and unconsciously, indeed instinctively.
On the contrary, imitators, mannerists, imitatores, sei-vum
pecus, start, in art, from the concept; they observe what
pleases and affects us in true works of art ; understand
it clearly, fix it in a concept, and thus abstractly, and
then imitate it, openly or disguisedly, with dexterity
and intentionally. They suck their nourishment, like
parasite plants, from the works of others, and like polypi,
they become the colour of their food. We might carry
comparison further, and say that they are like machines
which mince fine and mingle together whatever is put
into them, but can never digest it, so that the different
constituent parts may always be found again if they are
sought out and separated from the mixture ; the man of
genius alone resembles the organised, assimilating, trans-
forming and reproducing body. For he is indeed edu-
cated and cultured by his predecessors and their works ;
but he is really fructified only by life and the world
directly, through the impression of what he perceives;
therefore the highest culture never interferes with his
originality. All imitators, all mannerists, apprehend iu
concepts the nature of representative works of art ; but
concepts can never impart inner life to a work. The
age, i.e., the dull multitude of every time, knows only
concepts, and sticks to them, and therefore receives

THE PLATONIC IDEA ; THE OBJECT OF ART. 305

mannered works of art with ready and loud applause:
but after a few years these works become insipid, because
the spirit of the age, i.e, the prevailing concepts, in which
alone they could take root, have changed. Only true
works of art, which are drawn directly from nature and
life, have eternal youth and enduring power, like nature
and life themselves. For they belong to no age, but to
humanity, and as on that account they are coldly received
by their own age, to which they disdain to link them-
selves closely, and because indirectly and negatively they
expose the existing errors, they are slowly and unwillingly
recognised ; on the other hand, they cannot grow old, but
appear to us ever fresh and new down to the latest ages.
Then they are no longer exposed to neglect and ignorance,
for they are crowned and sanctioned by the praise of the
few men capable of judging, who appear singly and rarely
in the course of ages,1 and give in their votes, whose
slowly growing number constitutes the authority, which
alone is the judgment-seat we mean when we appeal to
posterity. It is these successively appearing individuals,
for the mass of posterity will always be and remain just
as perverse and dull as the mass o£ contemporaries always
was and always is. We read the complaints of great men
in every century about the customs of their age. They
always sound as if they referred to our own age, for the
race is always the same. At every time and in every
art, mannerisms have taken the place of the spirit, which
was always the possession of a few individuals, but
mannerisms are just the old cast-off garments of the last
manifestation of the spirit that existed and was recognised.
From all this it appears that, as a rule, the praise of
posterity can only be gained at the cost of the praise of
one's contemporaries, and vice versa.2

§ 50. If the aim of all art is the communication of the
comprehended Idea, which through the mind of the artist

1 Apparent rari, nantes in gurgite vasto

2 Cf. Ch. xxxiv. of Supplement.

VOL. I. TT

3o6 THE WORLD AS IDEA. RK. lit

appears in such a form that it is purged and isolated from
all that is foreign to it, and may now be grasped by the
man of weaker comprehension and no productive faculty ;
if further, it is forbidden in art to start from the concept,
we shall not be able to consent to the intentional and
avowed employment of a work of art for the expression
of a concept ; this is the case in the Allegory. An alle-
gory is a work of art which means something different
from what it represents. But the object of perception,
and consequently also the Idea, expresses itself directly
and completely, and does not require the medium of
something else which implies or indicates it. Thus,
that which in this way is indicated and represented by
something entirely different, because it cannot itself be

* made object of perception, is always a concept There-
fore through the allegory a conception has always to be
signified, and consequently the mind of the beholder has
to be drawn away from the expressed perceptible idea to
one which is entirely different, abstract and not per-
ceptible, and which lies quite outside the work of art
The picture or statue is intended to accomplish here
what is accomplished far more fully by a book. Now,
what we hold is the end of art, representation of a
perceivable, comprehensible Idea, is not here the end.
No gTeat completeness in the work of art is demanded
for what is aimed at here. It is only necessary that we
should see what the thing is meant to be, for, as soon as
this has been discovered, the end is reached, and the mind
is now led away to quite a different kind of idea to
an abstract conception, which is the end that was in
view. Allegories in plastic and pictorial art are, therefore,

y/ nothing but hieroglyphics ; the artistic value which they
may have as perceptible representations, belongs to them
not as allegories, but otherwise. That the " Night " oiA
CorregL-io, the "Genius of Fame" of Hannibal Carracci,
and the " Hours " of Poussin, are very beautiful pictures!
is to be separated altogether from thi- fact that they are;

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 307

I allegories. As allegories they do not accomplish more
j than a legend, indeed rather less. We are here again
reminded of the distinction drawn above between the
real and the nominal significance of a picture. The
nominal is here the allegorical as such, for example, the
" Genius of Fame." The real is what is actually repre-
sented, in this case a beautiful winged youth, surrounded
by beautiful boys ; this expresses an Idea. But this real
significance affects us only so long as we forget the nomi-
nal, allegorical significance ; if we think of the latter, we
forsake the perception, and the mind is occupied with nn
abstract conception ; but the transition from the Idea to
the conception is always a fall. Indeed, that nominal
significance, that allegorical intention, often injures the
real significance, the perceptible truth. For example,
the unnatural light in the « Night " of Correggio, which,
though beautifully executed, has yet a merely allegorical
motive, and is really impossible. If then an allegorical
picture has artistic value, it is quite separate from and
independent of what it accomplishes as allegory. Such
a work of art serves two ends at once, the expression of
a conception and the expression of an Idea. Only the
latter can be an end of art ; the other is a foreign end,
the trilling amusement of making a picture also do
service as a legend, as a hieroglyphic, invented for the
pleasure of those to whom the true nature of art can
never appeal. It is the same thing as when a work of
art is also a useful implement of some kind, in which
case it also serves two ends ; for example, a statue which
is at the same time a candelabrum or a caryatide ; or a
bas-relief, which is also the shield of Achilles. True
lovers of art will allow neither the one nor the other.
It is true that an allegorical picture may, because of this
quality, produce a vivid impression upon the feelings ;
but when this is the case, a legend would under the
same circumstances produce the same effect. For ex-
ample, if the desire of fame were tirmly and lastingly

3o8 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. hi.

rooted in the heart of a man, because he regarded it as
his rightful possession, which is only withheld from
him so long as he has not produced the charter of his
ownership ; and if the Genius of Fame, with his laurel
crown, were to appear to such a man, his whole mind
would be excited, and his powers called into activity ;
but the same effect would be produced if he were sud-
denly to see the word " fame," in large distinct letters on
the wall. Or if a man has made known a truth, which
is of importance either as a maxim for practical life, or
as insight for science, but it has not been believed ; an
allegorical picture representing time as it lifts the veil,
and discloses the naked figure of Truth, will affect him
powerfully ; but the same effect would be produced by
the legend: " Le temps ddcouvre la veritt." For what

really pr°duces the effect here " the abstract tnouSnt»
not the object of perception.

If then, in accordance with what has been said, allegory
in plastic and pictorial art is a mistaken effort, serving
an end which is entirely foreign to art, it becomes quite
unbearable when it leads so far astray that the repre-
sentation of forced and violently introduced subtilties
degenerates into absurdity. Such, for example, is a
tortoise, to represent feminine seclusion ; the downward
glance of Nemesis into the drapery of her bosom, signify-
ing that she can see into what is hidden ; the explana-
tion of Bellori that Hannibal Caracci represents voluptu-
ousness clothed in a yellow robe, because he wishes
to indicate that her lovers soon fade and become yellow
as straw. If there is absolutely no connection between
y4e representation and the conception signified by it,
founded on subsumption under the concept, or associa-
tion of Ideas ; but the signs and the things signified are
combined in a purely conventional manner, by positive,
accidentally introduced laws ; then I call this degenerate
I kind of allegory Symbolism. Thus the rose is the symbol v
of secrecy, the laurel is the symbol of fame, the palm ia

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 309

the symbol of peace, the scallop-shell is the symbol
of pilgrimage, the cross is the symbol of the Christian
religion. To this class also belongs all significance of
mere colour, as yellow is the colour of falseness, and blue
"is the colour of fidelity. Such symbols may often be of
use in life, but their value is foreign to art. They are
simply to be regarded as hieroglyphics, or like Chinese
word-writing, and really belong to the same class as
armorial bearings, the bush that indicates a public-house,
the key of the chamberlain, or the leather of the moun-
taineer. If, finally, certain historical or mythical persons,
or personified conceptions, are represented by certain
fixed symbols, these are properly called emblems. Such
are the beasts of the Evangelist, the owl of Minerva, the
apple of Paris, the Anchor of Hope, &c. For the most
part, however, we understand by emblems those simple
allegorical representations explained by a motto, which
are meant to express a moral truth, and of which large
collections have been made by J. Camerarius, Alciatus,
and others. They form the transition to poetical allegory,
of which we shall have more to say later. Greek
sculpture devotes itself to the perception, and therefore
it is cesthetical ; Indian sculpture devotes itself to the
conception, and therefore it is merely symbolical.

This conclusion in regard to allegory, which is founded
on our consideration of the nature of art and quite con-
sistent with it, is directly opposed to the opinion of
Wincklemann, who, far from explaining allegory, as we
do, as something quite foreign to the end of art, and
often interfering with it, always speaks in favour of it,
and indeed (Works, vol i p. 55) places the highest aim
of art in the u representation of universal conceptions,
and non-sensuous things." We leave it to every one to
adhere to whichever view he pleases. Only the truth
became very clear to me from these and similar views
of Wincklemann connected with his peculiar metaphysic
of the beautiful, that one may have the greatest suscepti-

3io THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. iil

bility for artistic beauty, and the soundest judgment in
regard to it, without being able to give an abstract and
strictly philosophical justification of the nature of the
beautiful ; just as one may be very noble and virtuous,
and may have a tender conscience, which decides with
perfect accuracy in particular cases, without on that
account being in a position to investigate and explain in
the abstract the ethical significance of action.

Allegory has an entirely different relation to poetry

^from that which it has to plastic and pictorial art, and
although it is to be rejected in the latter, it is not only
permissible, but very serviceable to the former. For in
plastic and pictorial art it leads away from what is per-
ceptibly given, the proper object of all art, to abstract
thoughts ; but in poetry the relation is reversed ; for here
what is directly given in words is the concept, and the
first aim is to lead from this to the object of perception,
the representation of which must be undertaken by the
imagination of the hearer. If in plastic and pictorial art
we are led from what is immediately given to something
else, this must always be a conception, because here only
the abstract cannot be given directly ; but a conception
must never be the source, and its communication must
never be the end of a work of art. In poetry, on the
contrary, the conception is the material, the immediately
given, and therefore we may very well leave it, in order
to call up perceptions which are quite different, and iu
which the end is reached. Many a conception or abstract
thought may be quite indispensable to the connection of

L^a poem, which is yet, in itself and directly, quite incapable
of being perceived ; and then it is often made perceptible
by means of some example which is subsumed under it
This takes place in every trope, every metaphor, simile,
parable, and allegory, all of which differ only in the length
and completeness of their expression. Therefore, in the
arts which employ language as their medium, similes and
allegories are of striking effect. How beautifully Cer-

THE PLATONIC IDEA: THE OBJECT OF ART 311

vantes says of sleep in order to express the fact that it
frees us from all spiritual and bodily suffering, " It is a
mantle that covers all mankind." How beautifully
Kleist expresses allegorically the thought that philoso-
phers and men of science enlighten maukind, in the line,
" Those whose midnight lamp lights the world." How
strongly and sensuously Homer describes the harmful
Ate when he says : " She has tender feet, for she walks
not on the hard earth, but treads on the heads of men "
(II. xix. 91.) How forcibly we are struck by Menenius
Agrippa's fable of the belly and the limbs, addressed to
the people of Eome when they seceded. How beautifully
Plato's figure of the Cave, at the beginning of the seventh
book of the "ftepublic" to which we have already referred,
expresses a very abstract philosophical dogma. The fable
of Persephone is also to be regarded as a deeply signifi-
cant allegory of philosophical tendency, for she became
subject to the nether world by tasting a pomegranate.
This becomes peculiarly enlightening from Goethe's treat-
ment of the fable, as an episode in the Triumph der
Empfindsamkeit, which is beyond all praise. Three de-
tailed allegorical works are known to me, one, open and
avowed, is the incomparable " Criticon " of Balthasai
Gracian. It consists of a great rich web of connected
and highly ingenious allegories, that serve here as the fair
clothing of moral truths, to which he thus imparts the
most perceptible form, and astonishes us by the richness
of his invention. The two others are concealed allegories,
" Don Quixote" and " Gulliver's Travels." The first is an
allegory of the life of every man, who will not, like others,
be careful, merely for his own welfare, but follows some
objective, ideal end, which has taken possession of his
thoughts and will ; and certainly, in this world, he has
then a strange appearance. In the case of Gulliver we
have only to take everything physical as spiritual or
intellectual, in order to see what the " satirical rogue," as
Hamlet would call him, meant by it. Such, then, in the

312 THE WORLD AS IDEA. BK. ill,

poetical allegory, the conception is always the given,
which it tries to make perceptible by means of a picture ;
it may sometimes be expressed or assisted by a painted
picture. Such a picture will not be regarded as a work
of art, but only as a significant symbol, and it makes no
claim to pictorial, but only to poetical worth. Such is
that beautiful allegorical vignette of Lavater's, which must
be so heartening to every defender of truth : a hand
holding a light is stung by a wasp, while gnats are burn-
ing themselves in the flame above ; underneath is the
motto:

" And although it singes the wings of the gnats,
Destroys their heads and all their little brains,

Light is still light ;
And although I am stung by the angriest wasp,
I will not let it go."

To this class also belongs the gravestone with the burnt-
out, smoking candle, and the inscription —

" When it is out, it becomes clear
Whether the candle was tallow or wax."

Finally, of this kind is an old German genealogical tree,
in which the last representative of a very ancient family
thus expresses his determination to live his life to the
end in abstinence and perfect chastity, and therefore to
let his race die out ; he represents himself at the root
of the high-branching tree cutting it over himself with
shears. In general all those symbols referred to above,
commonly called emblems, which might also be defined
as short painted fables with obvious morals, belong to
this class. Allegories of this kind are always to be re-
garded as belonging to poetry, not to painting, and as
justified thereby ; moreover, the pictorial execution is here
always a matter of secondary importance, and no more is
demanded of it than that it shall represent the thing so
that we can recognise it But in poetry, as in plastic
art, the allegory passes into the symbol if there is merely

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 313

an arbitrary connection between what it presented to
perception and the abstract significance of it. For as all
symbolism rests, at bottom, on an agreement, the symbol
has this among other disadvantages, that in time its
meaning is forgotten, and then it is dumb. Who would
guess why the fish is a symbol of Christianity if he did
not know ? Only a Champollion ; for it is entirely a
phonetic hieroglyphic. Therefore, as a poetical allegory,
the Eevelation of John stands much in the same position
as the reliefs with Magnus Beus sol Mithra, which are
still constantly being explained.

§51. If now, with the exposition which has been
given of art in general, we turn from plastic and pictorial
art to poetry, we shall have no doubt that its aim also
is the revelation of the Ideas, the grades of the objec-
tification of will, and the communication of them to the
hearer with the distinctness and vividness with which the
poetical sense comprehends them. Ideas are essentially
perceptible ; if, therefore, in poetry only abstract con-
ceptions are directly communicated through words, it is
yet clearly the intention to make the hearer perceive the
Ideas of life in the representatives of these conceptions,
and this can only take place through the assistance of
his own imagination. But in order to set the imagination
to work for the accomplishment of this end, the abstract
conceptions, which are the immediate material of poetry
as of dry prose, must be so arranged that their spheres
intersect each other in such a way that none of them can
remain in its abstract universality ; but, instead of it, a
perceptible representative appears to the imagination ;
and this is always further modified by the words of the
poet according to what his intention may be. As the
chemist obtains solid precipitates by combining perfectly
clear and transparent fluids ; the poet understands how
to precipitate, as it were, the concrete, the individual, the
perceptible idea, out of the abstract and transparent
universality of the concepts by the manner in which he

3H THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk.hl

combines them. For the Idea can only be known by
perception ; and knowledge of the Idea is the end oi" art.
The skill of a master, in poetry as in chemistry, enables
us always to obtain the precise precipitate we intended.
This end is assisted by the numerous epithets in poetry,
by means of which the universality of every concept is
narrowed more and more till we reach the perceptible.
Homer attaches to almost every substantive an adjec-
tive, whose concept intersects and considerably diminishes
the sphere of the concept of the substantive, which is
thus brought so much the nearer to perception : for
example —

" Ev 5' area Qxeavcp Xaparpov 0ao$ ^eXioto,
'EX/cov vvkto. fieXaiPav en faSwpov apovpav."

(" Occictit vero in Oceanum splendidum lumeii solis,
Trahens nocteni uigram super almam terram.")

And—

" Where gentle winds from the blue heavens sigh,
There stand the myrtles still, the laurel high,"—

calls up before the imagination by means of a few con-
cepts the whole delight of a southern clime.

Ehythm and rhyme are quite peculiar aids to poetry.
I can give no other explanation of their incredibly power-
ful effect than that our faculties of perception have
received from time, to which they are essentially bound,
some quality on account of which we inwardly follow,
and, as it were, consent to each regularly recurring
sound. In this way rhythm and rhyme are partly a
means of holding our attention, because we willingly
follow the poem read, and partly they produce in us a
blind consent to what is read prior to any judgment, and
tins gives the poem a certain emphatic power of convinc-
ing independent of all reasons.

From the general nature of the material, that is, the
concepts, which poetiy uses to communicate the Ideas,
the extent of its province is very great. The whole of

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 315

nature, the Ideas of ali grades, can be represented by
means of it, for it proceeds according to the Idea it has
to impart, so that its representations are sometimes de-
scriptive, sometimes narrative, and sometimes directly
dramatic. If, in the representation of the lower grades
of the objectivity of will, plastic and pictorial art gene-
rally surpass it, because lifeless nature, and even brute
nature, reveals almost its whole being in a single well-
chosen moment ; man, on the contrary, so far as he does
not express himself by the mere form and expression of
his person, but through a series of actions and the accom-
panying thoughts and emotions, is the principal object of
poetry, in which no other art can compete with it, for
here the progress or movement which cannot be repre-
sented in plastic or pictorial art just suits its purpose.

The revelation of the Idea, which is the highest grade
of the objectivity of will, the representation of man in
the connected series of his efforts and actions, is thus the
great problem of poetry. It is true that both experience
and history teach us to know man ; yet oftener men than
man, i.e., they give us empirical notes of the behaviour
of men to each other, from which we may frame rules
for our own conduct, oftener than they afford us deep
glimpses of the inner nature of man. The latter func-
tion, however, is by no means entirely denied them ; but
as often as it is the nature of mankind itself that dis-
closes itself to us in history or in our own experience,
we have comprehended our experience, and the historian
has comprehended history, with artistic eyes, poetically,
i.e., according to the Idea, not the phenomenon, in its inner
nature, not in its relations. Our own experience is the
indispensable condition of understanding poetry as of
understanding history; for it is, so to speak, the dictionary
of the language that both speak. But history is related
to poetry as portrait -painting is related to historical
painting ; the one gives us the true in the individual,
the other the true in the universal ; the one has the

316 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. hi.

truth of the phenomenon, and can therefore verify it
from the phenomenal, the other has the truth of the
Idea, which can be found in no particular phenomenon, but
yet speaks to us from them all. The poet from deliberate
choice represents significant characters in significant situa-
tions; the historian takes both as they coma Indeed,
he must regard and select the circumstances and the
persons, not with reference to their inward and true
significance, which expresses the Idea, but according to
the outward, apparent, and relatively important signifi-
cance with regard to the connection and the consequences.
He must consider nothing in and for itself in its essential
character and expression, but must look at everything in
its relations, in its connection, in its influence upon what
follows, and especially upon its own age. Therefore he
will not overlook an action of a king, though of little
significance, and in itself quite common, because it has
results and influence. And, on the other hand, actions
of the highest significance of particular and very
eminent individuals are not to be recorded by him if
they have no consequences. For his treatment follows
the principle of sufficient reason, and apprehends the
phenomenon, of which this principle is the form. But
the poet comprehends the Idea, the inner nature of man
apart from all relations, outside all time, the adequate
objectivity of the thing-in-itself, at its highest grade.
Even in that method of treatment which is necessary
for the historian, the inner nature and significance of the
phenomena, the kernel of all these shells, can never be
entirely lost He who seeks for it, at any rate, may find
it and recognise it. Yet that which is significant in
itself, not in its relations, the real unfolding of the Idea,
will be found far more accurately and distinctly in poetry
than in history, and, therefore, however paradoxical it
may sound, far more really genuine inner truth is to be
attributed to poetry than to history. For the historian
must accurately follow the particular event according to

THE PLATONIC IDEA: THE OBJECT OF ART. 317

life, as it develops itself in time in the manifold tangled
chains of causes and effects. It is, however, impossible
that he can have all the data for this ; he cannot have
seen all and discovered all. He is forsaken at every
moment by the original of his picture, or a false one
substitutes itself for it, and this so constantly that I
think I may assume that in all history the false out-
weighs the true. The poet, on the contrary, has com-
prehended the Idea of man from some definite side which
is to be represented ; thus it is the nature of his own
self that objectifies itself in it for him. His knowledge,
as we explained above when speaking of sculpture, is
half a priori; his ideal stands before his mind firm,
distinct, brightly illuminated, and cannot forsake him;
therefore he shows us, in the mirror of his mind, the
Idea pure and distinct, and his delineation of it
down to the minutest particular is true as life itself.1
The great ancient historians are, therefore, in those
particulars in which their data fail them, for example,
in the speeches of their heroes — poets; indeed their
whole manner of handling their material approaches

1 It is scarcely necessary to say ally a greater proneness to what is
that wherever I speak of poets I perverse and dull as akin to itself,
refer exclusively to that rare pheno- Therefore these works of the mediocre
menon the great true poet. I mean poets draw it away and hold it back
no one else ; least of all that dull from the true masterpieces and the
insipid tribe, the mediocre poets, education they afford, and thus work-
rhymsters, and inventors of fables, ing in direct antagonism to the be-
that flourishes so luxuriantly at the nign influence of genius, they ruin
present day in Germany. They taste more and more, and retard the
ought rather to have the words progress of the age. Such poets
shouted in their ears unceasingly should therefore be scourged with
from all sides — criticism and satire without indul-
,, 7 . ., .., . gence or sympathy till they are in-
Mediocribusessepoetis 3uced fo/their own good, to apply
Non homines, non Dt, non concessere thdr muse rather to reading what
columncB. jg g00(j tjian to wrjting what is bad.
It is worthy of serious consideration For if the bungling of the incom-
what an amount of time — both their petent so raised the wrath of the
own and other people's — and paper gentle Apollo that he could flay
is lost by this swarm of mediocre Marsyas, I do not see on what the
poets, and how injurious is their mediocre poets will base their claim
influence. For the public always to tolerance,
seizes on what is new, and has natur-

318 THE WORLD AS IDEA. rk. hi.

to the epic. But this gives their representations unity,
and enables them to retain inner truth, even when
outward truth was not accessible, or indeed was falsified.
And as we compared history to portrait-painting, in
contradistinction to poetry, which corresponds to his-
torical painting, we find that Winckelmann's maxim,
that the portrait ought to be the ideal of the individual,
was followed by the ancient historians, for they re-
present the individual in such a way as to bring out
that side of the Idea of man which is expressed in it
Modern historians, on the contrary, with few exceptions,
give us in general only " a dust-bin and a lumber-room,
and at the most a chronicle of the principal political
events." Therefore, whoever desires to know man in his
inner nature, identical in all its phenomena and develop-
ments, to know him according to the Idea, will find that
the works of the great, immortal poet present a far
truer, more distinct picture, than the historians can ever
give. For even the best of the historians are, as poets,
far from the first; and moreover their hands are tied.
In this aspect the relation between the historian and the
poet may be illustrated by the following comparison.
The mere, pure historian, who works only according to
data, is like a man, who without any knowledge of
mathematics, has investigated the relations of certain
figures, which he has accidentally found, by measuring
them; and the problem thus empirically solved is
affected of course by all the errors of the drawn figure.
The poet, on the other hand, is like the mathematician,
who constructs these relations a priori in pure perception,
and expresses them not as they actually are in the
drawn figure, but as they are in the Idea, which the
drawing is intended to render for the senses. Therefore
Schiller says : —

" What lias never anywhere come to pass,
That alone never yrows old."

THE PLATONIC IDEA ; THE OBJECT OF ART. }i9

Indeed I must attribute greater value to biographies, and
especially to autobiographies, in relation to the know-
ledge of the nature of man, than to history proper, at
least as it is commonly handled. Partly because in the
former the data can be collected more accurately and
completely than in the latter ; partly, because in histoiy
proper, it is not so much men as nations and heroes that
act, and the individuals who do appear, seem so far off,
surrounded with such pomp and circumstance, clothed in
the stiff robes of state, or heavy, inflexible armour, that
it is really hard through all this to recognise the human
movements. On the other hand, the life of the individual
when described with truth, in a narrow sphere, shows
the conduct of men in all its forms and subtilties, the
excellence, the virtue, and even holiness of a few, the
perversity, meanness, and knavery of most, the dissolute
profligacy of some. Besides, in the only aspect we are
considering here, that of the inner significance of the
phenomenal, it is quite the same whether the objects
With which the action is concerned, are, relatively con-
sidered, trifling or important, farm-houses or kingdoms :
for all these things in themselves are without significance,
and obtain it only in so far as the will is moved by
them. The motive has significance only through its
relation to the will, while the relation which it has
as a thing to other things like itself, does not concern
us here. As a circle of one inch in diameter, and a
circle of forty million miles in diameter, have precisely
the same geometrical properties, so are the events and
the history of a village and a kingdom essentially the
same ; and we may study and learn to know mankind
as well in the one as in the other. It is also a mistake
to suppose that autobiographies are full of deceit and
dissimulation. On the contrary, lying (though always
possible) is perhaps more difficult there than elsewhere.
Dissimulation is easiest in mere conversation; indeed,
though it may sound paradoxical, it is really more

1

320 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. hi.

difficult even in a letter. For in the case of a letter the
writer is alone, and looks into himself, and not out on
the world, so that what is strange and distant does not
easily approach him ; and he has not the test of the
impression made upon another before his eyes. But the
receiver of the letter peruses it quietly in a mood
unknown to the writer, reads it repeatedly and at
different times, and thus easily finds out the concealed
intention. We also get to know an author as a man
most easily from his books, because all these circumstances
act here still more strongly and permanently. And in
an autobiography it is so difficult to dissimulate, that
perhaps there does not exist a single one that is not, as
a whole, more true, than any history that ever was
written. The man who writes his own life surveys it as
a whole, the particular becomes small, the near becomes
distant, the distant becomes near again, the motives that
influenced him shrink ; he seats himself at the con-
fessional, and has done so of his own free will ; the
spirit of lying does not so easily take hold of him here,
for there is also in every man an inclination to truth
which has first to be overcome whenever he lies, and
which here has taken up a specially strong position.
The relation between biography and the history of nations
may be made clear for perception by means of the
following comparison : History shows us mankind as a
view from a high mountain shows us nature ; we see
much at a time, wide stretches, great masses, but nothing
is distinct nor recognisable in all the details of its own
peculiar nature. On the other hand, the representation
of the life of the individual shows us the man, as we
see nature if we go about among her trees, plants, rocks,
and waters. But in landscape-painting, in which the
artist lets us look at nature with his eyes, the knowledge
of the Ideas, and the condition of pure will-less knowing,
which is demanded by these, is made much easier for us ;
and, in the same way, poetry is far superior both to

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 321

history and biography, in the representation of the Ideas
which may be looked for in all three. For here also
genius holds up to us the magic glass, in which all that
is essential and significant appears before us collected
and placed in the clearest light, and what is accidental
and foreign is left out.1

The representation of the Idea of man, which is the
work of the poet, may be performed, so that what is
represented is also the representor. This is the case in
lyrical poetry, in songs, properly so called, in which the
poet only perceives vividly his own state and describes
it. Thus a certain subjectivity is essential to this kind
of poetry from the nature of its object. Again, what is
to be represented may be entirely different from him who
represents it, as is the case in all other kinds of poetry,
in which the poet more or less conceals himself behind
his representation, and at last disappears altogether. In
the ballad the poet still expresses to some extent his own
state through the tone and proportion of the whole ;
therefore, though much more objective than the lyric, it
has yet something subjective. This becomes less in the
idyll, still less in the romantic poem, almost entirely
disappears in the true epic, and even to the last vestige
in the drama, which is the most objective and, in more
than one respect, the completes t and most difficult form
of poetry. The lyrical form of poetry is consequently
/the easiest, and although art, as a whole, belongs only to
the true man of genius, who so rarely appears, even a man
who is not in general very remarkable may produce a
beautiful song if, by actual strong excitement from without,
some inspiration raises his mental powers ; for all that is
required for this is a lively perception of his own state
at a moment of emotional excitement. This is proved
by the existence of many single songs by individuals who
have otherwise remained unknown; especially the German
national songs, of which we have an exquisite collection

1 Cf. Ch. xxxviii. of Supplement.
VOL. I. X

j22 THE WORLD AS IDEA. BK. ill.

in the " Wunderhorn ; " and also by innumerable love-
songs and other songs of the people in all languages ;—
for to seize the mood of a moment and embody it in a
song is the whole achievement of this kind of poetry. Yet
in the lyrics of true poets the inner nature of all man-
kind is reflected, and all that millions of past, present,
and future men have found, or will find, in the same
situations, which are constantly recurring, finds its exact
expression in them. And because these situations, by
constant recurrence, are permanent as man himself and
always call up the same sensations, the lyrical produc-
tions of genuine poets remain through thousands of years
true, powerful, and fresh. But if the poet is always the
universal man, then all that has ever moved a human
heart, all that human nature in any situation has ever
produced from itself, all that dwells and broods in any
human breast — is his theme and his material, and also
all the rest of nature. Therefore the poet may just as
well sing of voluptuousness as of mysticism, be Anacreon
or Angelus Silesius, write tragedies or comedies, represent
the sublime or the common mind — according to humour
or vocation. And no one has the right to prescribe to
the poet what he ought to be — noble and sublime, moral,
pious, Christian, one thing or another, still less to re-
proach him because he is one thing and not another.
He is the mirror of mankind, and brings to its conscious-
ness what it feels and does.

If we now consider more closely the nature of the lyric
proper, and select as examples exquisite and pure models,
not those that approach in any way to some other form
of poetry, such as the ballad, the elegy, the hymn, the
epigram, &c, we shall find that the peculiar nature of
the lyric, in the narrowest sense, is this : It is the sub-
ject of will, i.e., his own volition, which the consciousness
of the singer feels; often as a released and satisfied
desire (joy), but still oftener as a restricted desire (grief),
always as an emotion, a passion, a moved frame of mind.

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 323

Besides this, however, and along with it, by the sight of
surrounding nature, the singer becomes conscious of him-
self as the subject of pure, will-less knowing, whose
unbroken blissful peace now appears, in contrast to the
stress of desire which is always restricted and always
needy. The feeling of this contrast, this alternation, is
really what the lyric as a whole expresses, and what
principally constitutes the lyrical state of mind. In it
pure knowing comes to us, as it were, to deliver us from
desire and its stain ; we follow, but only for an instant ;
desire, the remembrance of our own personal ends, tears
us anew from peaceful contemplation ; yet ever again
the next beautiful surrounding in which the pure will-
less knowledge presents itself to us, allures us away from
desira Therefore, in the lyric and the lyrical mood, de-
sire (the personal interest of the ends), and pure percep-
tion of the surrounding presented, are wonderfully mingled
with each other ; connections between them are sought for
and imagined ; the subjective disposition, the affection of
the will, imparts its own hue to the perceived surrounding,
and conversely, the surroundings communicate the reflex
of their colour to the will. The true lyric is the expres-
sion of the whole of this mingled and divided state of
mind. In order to make clear by examples this abstract
analysis of a frame of mind that is very far from all
abstraction, any of the immortal songs of Goethe may be
taken. As specially adapted for this end I shall recom-
mend only a few : " The Shepherd's Lament," " Welcome
and Farewell," "To the Moon," "On the Lake," "Autumn;"
also the songs in the " Wunderhorn " are excellent ex-
amples ; particularly the one which begins, " 0 Bremen,
I must now leave thee." As a comical and happy
parody of the lyrical character a song of Voss strikes me
as remarkable. It describes the feeling of a drunk
plumber falling from a tower, who observes in passing
that the clock on the tower is at half-past eleven, a
remark which is quite foreign to his condition, and thus

324

THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. hi.

belongs to knowledge free from will. Whoever accepts
the view that has been expressed of the lyrical frame of
mind, will also allow, that it is the sensuous and poetical
knowledge of the principle which I established in my
essay on the Principle of Sufficient Reason, and have also
referred to in this work, that the identity of the subject
of knowing with that of willing may be called the
miracle /car efo;^; so tnat tne Poetica^ effect of the
lyric rests finally on the truth of that principle. In the
course of life these two subjects, or, in popular language,
head and heart, are ever becoming further apart; men
are always separating more between their subjective
feeling and their objective knowledge. In the child the
two are still entirely blended together ; it scarcely knows
how to distinguish itself from its surroundings, it is
at one with them In the young man all perception
chiefly affects feeling and mood, and even mingles with
it, as Byron very beautifully expresses —

u I live not in myself, but I become
Portion of that around me; and to me
High mountains are a feeling."

This is why the youth clings so closely to the per-
ceptible and outward side of things ; this is why he is
only fit for lyrical poetry, and only the full-grown man
is capable of the drama. The old man we can think of
as at the most an epic poet, like Ossian, and Homer,
for narration is characteristic of old age.

In the more objective kinds of poetry, especially in the
romance, the epic, and the drama, the end, the revelation
/ of the Idea of man, is principally attained by two means,
yby true and profound representation of significant charac-
ters, and by the invention of pregnant situations in which
- they disclose themselves. For as it is incumbent upon
the chemist not only to exhibit the simple elements, pure
and genuine, and their principal compounds, but also to
expose them to the influence of such reagents as will

THE PLATONIC IDEA: THE OBJECT OF ART. 325

clearly and strikingly bring out their peculiar qualities,
so is it incumbent on the poet not only to present to us
significant characters truly and faithfully as nature itself ;
but, in order that we may get to know them, he must
place them in those situations in which their peculiar
qualities will fully unfold themselves, and appear dis-
tinctly in sharp outline ; situations which are therefore
called significant. In real life, and in history, situations
of this kind are rarely brought about by chance, and
they stand alone, lost and concealed in the multitude of
those which are insignificant. The complete significance
of the situations ought to distinguish the romance, the
epic, and the drama from real life as completely as the
arrangement and selection of significant characters. In
both, however, absolute truth is a necessary condition of
their effect, and want of unity in the characters, contra-
diction either of themselves or of the nature of humanity
in general, as well as impossibility, or very great im-
probability in the events, even in mere accessories, offend
just as much in poetry as badly drawn figures, false per-
spective, or wrong lighting in painting. For both in
poetry and painting we demand the faithful mirror of life,
of man, of the world, only made more clear by the re-
presentation, and more significant by the arrangement.
For there is only one end of all the arts, the represen-
tation of the Ideas ; and their essential difference lies
simply in the different grades of the objectification of will
to which the Ideas that are to be represented belong.
This also determines the material of the representation.
Thus the arts which are most widely separated may yet
throw light on each other. For example, in order to
comprehend fully the Ideas of water it is not sufficient to
see it in the quiet pond or in the evenly-flowing stream ;
but these Ideas disclose themselves fully only when the
water appears under all circumstances and exposed to all
kinds of obstacles. The effects of the varied circum-
stances and obstacles give it the opportunity of fully

326 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. hi.

exhibiting all its qualities. This is why we find it
beautiful when it tumbles, rushes, and foams, or leaps
into the air, or falls in a cataract of spray ; or, lastly, if
artificially confined it springs up in a fountain. Thus
showing itself different under different circumstances, it
yet always faithfully asserts its character ; it is just as
natural to it to spout up as to lie in glassy stillness ; it
is as ready for the one as for the other as soon as the
circumstances appear. Now, what the engineer achieves
with the fluid matter of water, the architect achieves with
the rigid matter of stone, and just this the epic or dra-
matic poet achieves with the Idea of man. Unfolding
and rendering distinct the Idea expressing itself in the
object of every art, the Idea of the will which objectifies
itself at each grade, is the common end of all the arts.
The life of man, as it shows itself for the most part in
the real world, is like the water, as it is generally seen in
the pond and the river ; but in the epic, the romance, the
tragedy, selected characters are placed in those circum-
stances in which all their special qualities unfold them-
selves, the depths of the human heart are revealed, and
become visible in extraordinary and very significant
actions. Thus poetry objectifies the Idea of man, an Idea
which has the peculiarity of expressing itself in highly
individual characters.

Tragedy is to be regarded, and is recognised as the
summit of poetical art, both on account of the greatness
of its effect and the difficulty of its achievement. It is
very significant for our whole system, and well worthy
of observation, that the end of this highest poetical
achievement is the representation of the terrible side of
life. The unspeakable pain, the wail of humanity, the
triumph of evil, the scornful mastery of chance, and the
irretrievable fall of the just and innocent, is here pre-
sented to us ; and in this lies a significant hint of the
nature of the world and of existence. It is the strife of
j/will with itself, which here, completely unfolded at the

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 327

highest grade of its objectivity, comes into fearful pro-
minence. It becomes visible in the suffering of men,
which is now introduced, partly through chance and
error, which appear as the rulers of the world, personi-
fied as fate, on account of their insidiousness, which even
reaches the appearance of design ; partly it proceeds
from man himself, through the self-mortifying efforts of
a few, through the wickedness and perversity of most.
It is one and the same will that lives and appears in
them all, but whose phenomena fight against each other
and destroy each other. In one individual it appears
powerfully, in another more weakly ; in one more subject
to reason, and softened by the light of knowledge, in
another less so, till at last, in some single case, this
knowledge, purified and heightened by suffering itself,
reaches the point at which the phenomenon, the veil of
Maya, no longer deceives it. It sees through the form V
of the phenomenon, the principum individuationis. The
egoism which rests on this perishes with it, so that now
the motives that were so powerful before have lost their
might, and instead of them the complete knowledge of
the nature of the world, which has a quieting effect on
the will, produces resignation, the surrender not merely
of life, but of the very will to live. Thus we see in
tragedies the noblest men, after long conflict and suffer-
ing, at last renounce the ends they have so keenly
followed, and all the pleasures of life for ever, or else
freely and joyfully surrender life itself. So is it with
the steadfast prince of Calderon; with Gretchen in
" Faust ; " with Hamlet, whom his friend Horatio would
willingly follow, but is bade remain a while, and in
this harsh world draw his breath in pain, to tell the
story of Hamlet, and clear his memory ; so also is it
with the Maid of Orleans, the Bride of Messina; they
all die purified by suffering, i.e., after the will to live
which was formerly in them is dead. In the " Moham-
med " of Voltaire this is actually expressed in the con-

328 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. hi.

eluding words which the dying Palmira addresses to
Mohammed : " The world is for tyrants : live ! " On the
other hand, the demand for so-called poetical justice rests
on entire misconception of the nature of tragedy, and,
indeed, of the nature of the world itself. It boldly
appears in all its dulness in the criticisms which Dr.
Samuel Johnson made on particular plays of Shakspeare,
for he very naively laments its entire absence. And its
absence is certainly obvious, for in what has Ophelia,
Desdemona, or Cordelia offended ? But only the dull,
optimistic, Protestant-rationalistic, or peculiarly Jewish
view of life will make the demand for poetical justice,
and find satisfaction in it. The true sense of tragedy is
,-the deeper insight, that it is not his own individual sins
jr that the hero atones for, but original sin, *.«., the crime
• of existence itself :

" Pues el delito mayor
Del hombre es haber nacido ; "

(" For the greatest crime of man
Is that he was born ; ")

as Calderon exactly expresses it.

I shall allow myself only one remark, more closely
concerning the treatment of tragedy. The represen-
tation of a great misfortune is alone essential to tragedy.
But the many different ways in which this is introduced
by the poet may be brought under three specific con-
ceptions. It may happen by means of a character of
extraordinary wickedness, touching the utmost limits of
possibility, who becomes the author of the misfortune;
examples of this kind are Richard III., Iago in " Othello,"
Shylock in "The Merchant of Venice," Franz Moor,
Pheedra of Euripides, Creon in the " Antigone," &c.,
&c. Secondly, it may happen through blind fate, ie.,
chance and error; a true pattern of this kind is the
(Edipus Rex of Sophocles, the " Trachiniae " also ; and
in general most of the tragedies of the ancients belong

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 329

to this class. Among modern tragedies, " Eomeo and
Juliet," " Tancred " by Voltaire, and " The Bride of
Messina," are examples. Lastly, the misfortune may be
brought about by the mere position of the dramatis
persona with regard to each other, through their relations ;
so that there is no need either for a tremendous error or
an unheard-of accident, nor yet for a character whose
wickedness reaches the limits of human possibility ; but
characters of ordinary morality, under circumstances such
as often occur, are so situated with regard to each other
that their position compels them, knowingly and with
their eyes open, to do each other the greatest injury,
without any one of them being entirely in the wrong.
This last kind of tragedy seems to me far to surpass
the other two, for it shows us the greatest misfor-
tune, not as an exception, not as something occasioned
by rare circumstances or monstrous characters, but as
arising easily and of itself out of the actions and
characters of men, indeed almost as essential to them,
and thus brings it terribly near to us. In the other
two kinds we may look on the prodigious fate and the
horrible wickedness as terrible powers which certainly
threaten us, but only from afar, which we may very well
escape without taking refuge in renunciation. But in the
last kind of tragedy we see that those powers which
destroy happiness and life are such that their path to us
also is open at every moment ; we see the greatest
sufferings brought about by entanglements that our fate
might also partake of, and through actions that perhaps
we also are capable of performing, and so could not
complain of injustice ; then shuddering we feel ourselves
already in the midst of hell. This last kind of tragedy
is also the most difficult of achievement ; for the greatest
effect has to be produced in it with the least use of
means and causes of movement, merely through the
position and distribution of the characters ; therefore
even in many of the best tragedies this difficulty is

33° THE WORLD AS IDEA.

BK. III.

evaded. Yet one tragedy may be referred to as a perfect
model of this kind, a tragedy which in other respects is
far surpassed by more than one work of the same great
master; it is "Clavigo." "Hamlet" belongs to a certain
extent to this class, as far as the relation of Hamlet to
Laertes and Ophelia is concerned. " Wallenstein" has also
this excellence. " Faust " belongs entirely to this class, if
we regard the events connected with Gretchen and her
brother as the principal action ; also the " Cid " of Cor-
neille, only that it lacks the tragic conclusion, while on
the contrary the analogous relation of Max to Thecla
has it.1

§ 5 2. Now that we have considered all the fine arts
in the general way that is suitable to our point of view,
beginning with architecture, the peculiar end of which is
to elucidate the objectification of will at the lowest grades
of its visibility, in which it shows itself as the dumb
unconscious tendency of the mass in accordance with
laws, and yet already reveals a breach of the unity of
will with itself in a conflict between gravity and rigidity
— and ending with the consideration of tragedy, which
presents to us at the highest grades of the objectification
of will this very conflict with itself in terrible magni-
tude and distinctness ; we find that there is still another
fine art which has been excluded from our consideration,
and had to be excluded, for in the systematic connection
of our exposition there was no fitting place for it — I
mean music. It stands alone, quite cut off from all the
other arts. In it we do not recognise the copy or
repetition of any Idea of existence in the world. Yet it
is such a great and exceedingly noble art, its effect on
the inmost nature of man is so powerful, and it is so
entirely and deeply understood by hi in in his inmost
consciousness as a perfectly universal language, the
distinctness of which surpasses even that of the per-
ceptible world itself, that we certainly have mure to

1 Cf. Ch. xxxvii. of the Supplement

THE PLATONIC IDEA ; THE OBJECT OF ART. 331

look for in it than an exercitum arithmeticoe occultum
nescientis se numerare animi,1 which Leibnitz called
it. Yet he was perfectly right, as he considered
only its immediate external significance, its form. But
if it were nothing more, the satisfaction which it
affords would be like that which we feel when
a sum in arithmetic comes out right, and could not
be that intense pleasure with which we see the deepest
recesses of our nature find utterance. From our stand-
point, therefore, at which the aesthetic effect is the
criterion, we must attribute to music a far more serious
and deep significance, connected with the inmost nature
of the world and our own self, and in reference to which
the arithmetical proportions, to which it may be reduced,
are related, not as the thing signified, but merely as the
sign. That in some sense music must be related to the
world as the representation to the thing represented, as
the copy to the original, we may conclude from the
analogy of the other arts, all of which possess this
character, and affect us on the whole in the same way
as it does, only that the effect of music is stronger,
quicker, more necessary and infallible. Further, its
representative relation to the world must be very deep,
absolutely true, and strikingly accurate, because it is
instantly understood by every one, and has the appear-
ance of a certain infallibility, because its form may be
reduced to perfectly definite rules expressed in numbers,
from which it cannot free itself without entirely ceasing
to be music. Yet the point of comparison between
music and the world, the respect in which it stands to
the world in the relation of a copy or repetition, is very
obscure. Men have practised music in all ages without
being able to account for this ; content to understand it
directly, they renounce all claim to an abstract concep-
tion of this direct understanding itself.
/ I gave my mind entirely up to the impression of music

1 Leibnitii epistolae, collectio Kortholti, ep. 154.

V

332 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. hi.

in all its forms, and then returned to reflection and the
system of thought expressed in the present work, and
thus I arrived at an explanation of the inner nature of
music and of the nature of its imitative relation to the
world — which from analogy had necessarily to be pre-
supposed— an explanation which is quite sufficient for
myself, and satisfactory to my investigation, and which
will doubtless be equally evident to any one who has
followed me thus far and has agreed with my view of
the world. Yet I recognise the fact that it is essentially
impossible to prove this explanation, for it assumes and
establishes a relation of music, as idea, to that which
from its nature can never be idea, and music will have
to be regarded as the copy of an original which can
never itself be directly presented as idea. I can therefore
do no more than state here, at the conclusion of this
third book, which has been principally devoted to the
consideration of the arts, the explanation of the marvellous
art of music which satisfies myself, and I must leave the
acceptance or denial of my view to the effect produced upon
each of my readers both by music itself and by the whole
system of thought communicated in this work. More-
over, I regard it as necessary, in order to be able to assent
with full conviction to the exposition of the significance
of music I am about to give, that one should often listen
to music with constant reflection upon my theory con-
cerning it, and for this again it is necessary to be very
familiar with the whole of my system of thought.

The (Platonic) Ideas are the adequate objectification of
will. To excite or suggest the knowledge of these by
means of the representation of particular things (for
works of art themselves are always representations of
particular things) is the end of all the other arts, which
can only be attained by a corresponding change in the
knowing subject. Thus all these arts objectify the will
indirectly only by means of the Ideas ; and since our
world is nothing but the manifestation of the Ideas in

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 333

multiplicity, though their entrance into the principium
individuationis (the form of the knowledge possible for
the individual as such), music also, since it passes over
the Ideas, is entirely independent of the phenomenal
world, ignores it altogether, could to a certain extent exist
if there was no world at all, which cannot be said of the
other arts. Music is as direct an objectification and copy of
the whole will as the world itself, nay, even as the Ideas,
whose multiplied manifestation constitutes the world of
individual things. Music is thus by no means like the
other arts, the copy of the Ideas, but the copy of the will
itself, whose objectivity the Ideas are. This is why the
effect of music is so much more powerful and penetrating
than that of the other arts, for they speak only of shadows,
but it speaks of the thing itself. Since, however, it is the
same will which objectifies itself both in the Ideas and in
music, though in quite different ways, there must be, not
indeed a direct likeness, but yet a parallel, an analogy,
! between music and the Ideas whose manifestation in
( multiplicity and incompleteness is the visible world. The
establishing of this analogy will facilitate, as an illustra-
tion, the understanding of this exposition, which is so
difficult on account of the obscurity of the subject.

I recognise in the deepest tones of harmony, in the
> bass, the lowest grades of the objectification of will, T
unorganised nature, the mass of the planet. It is well
known that all the high notes which are easily sounded,
and die away more quickly, are produced by the vibration
in their vicinity of the deep bass-notes. When, also, the
low notes sound, the high notes always sound faintly,
and it is a law of harmony that only those high notes
may accompany a bass -note which actually already
sound along with it of themselves (its sons harmoniques)
on account of its vibration. This is analogous to the fact
that the whole of the bodies and organisations of nature
must be regarded as having come into existence through
gradual development out of the mass of the planet ; thif

334 THE WORLD AS IDEA.

BK. III.

is both their supporter and their source, and the same
relation subsists between the high notes and the bass.
< There is a limit of depth, below which no sound is
^ audible. This corresponds to the fact that no matter
, can be perceived without form and quality, i.e., without
the manifestation of a force which cannot be further ex-
plained, in which an Idea expresses itself, and, more
generally, that no matter can be entirely without wilL
Thus, as a certain pitch is inseparable from the note as
such, so a certain grade of the manifestation of will is
inseparable from matter. Bass is thus, for us, in har-
mony what unorganised nature, the crudest mass, upon
which all rests, and from which everything originates and
develops, is in the world. Now, further, in the whole of
the complemental parts which make up the harmony be-
tween the bass and the leading voice singing the melody,
I recognise the whole gradation of the Ideas in which the
will objectifies itself. Those nearer to the bass are the
lower of these grades, the still unorganised, but yet mani-
fold phenomenal things ; the higher represent to me the
world of plants and beasts. The definite intervals of the
scale are parallel to the definite grades of the objectifi-
cation of will, the definite species in nature. The de-
parture from the arithmetical correctness of the intervals,
through some temperament, or produced by the key
selected, is analogous to the departure of the individual
from the type of the species. Indeed, even the impure
discords, which give no definite interval, may be com-
pared to the monstrous abortions produced by beasts of
two species, or by man and beast. But to all these bass
and complemental parts which make up the harmony
there is wanting that connected progress which belongs
only to the high voice singing the melody, and it alone
moves quickly and lightly in modulations and runs, while
all these others have only a slower movement without a
^connection in each part for itself. The deep bass moves
*most slowly, the representative of the crudest mass. Its

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 335

rising and falling occurs only by large intervals, in thirds,
fourths, fifths, never by one tone, unless it is a base in- (
verted by double counterpoint. This slow movement is *
also physically essential to it; a quick run or shake in
the low notes cannot even be imagined. The higher
complemental parts, which are parallel to animal life,
move more quickly, but yet without melodious connec-
tion and significant progress. The disconnected course of
all the complemental parts, and their regulation by
definite laws, is analogous to the fact that in the whole
irrational world, from the crystal to the most perfect
animal, no being has a connected consciousness of its own
which would make its life into a significant whole, and
none experiences a succession of mental developments,
none perfects itself by culture, but everything exists
always in the same way according to its kind, determined
by fixed law. Lastly, in the melody, in the high, singing,
principal voice leading the whole and progressing with '
unrestrained freedom, in the unbroken significant connec-
tion of one thought from beginning to end representing a
whole, I recognise the highest grade of the object ification
of will, the intellectual life and effort of man. As he
alone, because endowed with reason, constantly looks
before and after on the path of his actual life and its
innumerable possibilities, and so achieves a course of life
which is intellectual, and therefore connected as a whole ;
corresponding to this, I say, the melody has significant
intentional connection from beginning to end. It records,
therefore, the history of the intellectually enlightened
will. This will expresses itself in the actual world as
the series of its deeds ; but melody says more, it records
the most secret history of this intellectually-enlightened
will, pictures every excitement, every effort, every move-
ment of it, all that which the reason collects under the
wide and negative concept of feeling, and which it
cannot apprehend further through its abstract con-
cepts. Therefore it has always been said that music

336 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. hi.

is the language of feeling and of passion, as words are
the language of reason. Plato explains it as 17 roav
fieXayv Kivrjai^ fjL€fiifjLT)jM€VT)t ev toi<? iraOrjfiaaiv orav ^rv^q
yivrjTcu (melodiarum motus, animi affectus imilans), De
Leg. vii.; and also Aristotle says: hia rt ol pvOfioi kcli ra
/jl€\tj, (fxoprj ovaa, rjOeaw eouce (cur numeri musici et modi,
qui voces sunt, moribus similes sese exhibent ?) : Probl. c. 1 9.
Now the nature of man consists in this, that his will
strives, is satisfied and strives anew, and so on for ever.
Indeed, his happiness and well-being consist simply in
the quick transition from wish to satisfaction, and from
satisfaction to a new wish. For the absence of satis-
faction is suffering, the empty longing for a new wish,
languor, ennui. And corresponding to this the nature
of melody is a constant digression and deviation from
the key-note in a thousand ways, not only to the har-
monious intervals to the .third and dominant, but to
every tone, to the dissonant sevenths and to the super-
fluous degrees; yet there always follows a constant
return to the key-note. In all these deviations melody
expresses the multifarious efforts of will, but always its
satisfaction also by the final return to an harmonious
interval, and still more, to the key-note. The composi-
ton of melody, the disclosure in it of all the deepest
secrets of human willing and feeling, is the work of
genius, whose action, which is more apparent here than
anywhere else, lies far from all reflection and conscious
Ljntention, and may be called anf ~ inspirationj The con-
ception is here, as everywhere in art, unfruitful The
composer reveals the inner nature of the world, and
expresses the deepest wisdom in a language which his
reasoiT does not understand ; as a person under the
influence of mesmerism tells things of which he has no
conception when he awakes. Therefore in the composer,
I more than in any other artist, the man is entirely sepa-
| rated and distinct from the artist. Even in the explana-
tion of this wonderful art, the concept shows its poverty

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 337

and limitation. I shall try, however, to complete our
analogy. As quick transition from wish to satisfaction,
and from satisfaction to a new wish, is happiness and
well-being, so quick melodies without great deviations
are cheerful ; slow melodies, striking painful discords,
and only winding back through many bars to the key-
note are, as analogous to the delayed and hardly won
satisfaction, sad. The delay of the new excitement of
will, languor, could have no other expression than the
sustained keynote, the effect of which would soon be
unbearable; very monotonous and unmeaning melodies
approach this effect. The short intelligible subjects of
quick dance-music seem to speak only of easily attained
common pleasure. On the other hand, the Allegro maes-
toso, in elaborate movements, long passages, and wide
deviations, signifies a greater, nobler effort towards a
more distant end, and its final attainment. The Adagio
speaks of the pain of a great and noble effort which
despises all trifling happiness. But how wonderful is
the effect of the minor and major! How astounding
that the change of half a tone, the entrance of a minor
third instead of a major, at once and inevitably forces
upon us an anxious painful feeling, from which again we
are just as instantaneously delivered by the major. The
Adagio lengthens in the minor the expression of the
keenest pain, and becomes even a convulsive wail.
Dance-music in the minor seems to indicate the failure
of that trifling happiness which we ought rather to
despise, seems to speak of the attainment of a lower end
with toil and trouble. The inexhaustibleness of possible
melodies corresponds to the inexhaustibleness of Nature
in difference of individuals, physiognomies, and courses
of life. The transition from one key to an entirely
different one, since it altogether breaks the connection
with what went before, is like death, for the individual
ends in it ; but the will which appeared in this indi-
vidual lives after him as before him, appearing in other
vol. 1. Y

338 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. in.

individuals, whose consciousness, however, has no connec-
tion with his.

But it must never be forgotten, in the investigation of
all these analogies I have pointed out, that music has no
direct, but merely an indirect relation to them, for it
never expresses the phenomenon, but only the inner
nature, the in-itself of all phenomena, the will itself.
It does not therefore express this or that particular and
definite joy, this or that sorrow, or pain, or horror, or
delight, or merriment, or peace of mind ; but joy, sor-
row, pain, horror, delight, merriment, peace of mind
themselves, to a certain extent in the abstract, their
essential nature, without accessories, and therefore with-
out their motives. Yet we completely understand them
in this extracted quintessence. Hence it arises that our
imagination is so easily excited by music, and now seeks
to give form to that invisible yet actively moved spirit-
world which speaks to us directly, and clothe it with
flesh and blood, i.e., to embody it in an analogous
example. This is the origin of the song with words,
and finally of the opera, the text of which should there-
fore never forsake that subordinate position in order to
make itself the chief thing and the music a mere means
of expressing it, which is a great misconception and a
piece of utter perversity; for music always expresses
only the quintessence of life and its events, never these
themselves, and therefore their differences do not always
atfect it It is precisely this universality, which belongs
exclusively to it, together with the greatest determinate-
ness, that gives music the high worth which it has as the
panacea for all our woes. Thus, if music is too closely
united to the words, and tries to form itself according to
the events, it is striving to speak a language which is
not its own. No one has kept so free from this mistake
y. as Eossini; therefore his music speaks its own language
so distinctly and purely that it requires no words, and
produces its full effect when rendered by instruments alone

THE PLATONIC IDEA: THE OBJECT OF ART. 339

According to all this, we may regard the phenomenal \T
world, or nature, and music as two different expressions \^_
of the same thing, which is therefore itself the only
medium of their analogy, so that a knowledge of it is
demanded in order to understand that analogy. Music,
therefore, if regarded as an expression of the world, is in
the highest degree a universal language, which is related \
indeed to the universality of concepts, much as they are f
related to the particular things. Its universality, how-
ever, is by no means that empty universality of abstrac-
tion, but quite of a different kind, and is united with
thorough and distinct definiteness. In this respect it
resembles geometrical figures and numbers, which are the
universal forms of all possible objects of experience and
applicable to them all a 'priori, and yet are not abstract
but perceptible and thoroughly determined. All possible
efforts, excitements, and manifestations of will, all that
goes on in the heart of man and that reason includes in
the wide, negative concept of feeling, may be expressed
by the infinite number of possible melodies, but always \
in the universal, in the mere form, without the material,
always according to the thing-in-itself, not the pheno-
menon, the inmost soul, as it were, of the phenomenon,
without the body. This deep relation which music has to
the true nature of all things also explains the fact that
suitable music played to any scene, action, event, or sur- -
rounding seems to disclose to us its most secret meaning,
and appears as the most accurate and distinct commen-
tary upon it. This is so truly the case, that whoever
gives himself up entirely to the impression of a symphony,
seems to see all the possible events of life and the world
take place in himself, yet if he reflects, he can find no
likeness between the music and the things that passed
before his mind. For, as we have said, music is dis-
tinguished from all the other arts by the fact that it is
not a copy of the phenomenon, or, more accurately, the
adequate objectivity of will, but is the direct copy of the

340 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. hi

will itself, and therefore exhibits itself as the meta- \
physical to everything physical in the world, and as the \
thing-in-itself to every phenomenon. We might, there-
fore, just as well call the world embodied music as /
embodied will ; and this is the reason why music makes
every picture, and indeed every scene of real life and of
the world, at once appear with higher significance, cer-
tainly all the more in proportion as its melody is
analogous to the inner spirit of the given phenomenon.
It rests upon this that we are able to set a poem to
music as a song, or a perceptible representation as a panto-
mime, or both as an opera. Such particular pictures of
human life, set to the universal language of music, are never
bound to it or correspond to it with stringent necessity ; but
they stand to it only in the relation of an example chosen
at will to a general concept. In the determinateness
of the real, they represent that which music expresses in
the universality of mere form. For melodies are to a
certain extent, like general concepts, an abstraction from
the actual. This actual world, then, the world of par-
ticular things, affords the object of perception, the special
and individual, the particular case, both to the universality
of the concepts and to the universality of the melodies.
But these two universalities are in a certain respect
opposed to each other ; for the concepts contain particulars
only as the first forms abstracted from perception, as it
were, the separated shell of things ; thus they are, strictly
speaking, abstracta ; music, on the other hand, gives the
inmost kernel which precedes all forms, or the heart of
things. This relation may be very well expressed in the
language of the schoolmen by saying the concepts are
the universalia post rem, but music gives the universalia
ante rem, and the real world the universalia in re. To the
universal significance of a melody to which a poem has
been set, it is quite possible to set other equally arbitrarily
selected examples of the universal expressed in this poem
corresponding to the significance of the melody in the

THE PLATONIC IDEA : THE OBJECT OF ART. 341

same degree. This is why the same composition is suit-
able to many verses ; and this is also what makes the
vaudeville possible. But that in general a relation is
possible between a composition and a perceptible repre-
sentation rests, as we have said, upon the fact that both
are simply different expressions of the same inner being
of the world. When now, in the particular case, such a
relation is actually given, that is to say, when the com-
poser has been able to express in the universal language
of music the emotions of will which constitute the heart
of an event, then the melody of the song, the music of
the opera, is expressive. But the analogy discovered by
the composer between the two must have proceeded from
the direct knowledge of the nature of the world unknown
to his reason, and must not be an imitation produced
with conscious intention by means of conceptions, other-
wise the music does not express the inner nature of the
will itself, but merely gives an inadequate imitation of
its phenomenon. All specially imitative music does this ;
for example, " The Seasons," by Haydn ; also many pas-
sages of his " Creation," in which phenomena of the ex-
ternal world are directly imitated; also all battle-pieces.
Such music is entirely to be rejected.

The unutterable depth of all music by virtue of which
it floats through our consciousness as the vision of a
paradise firmly believed in yet ever distant from us, and
by which also it is so fully understood and yet so inex-
plicable, rests on the fact that it restores to us all the
emotions of our inmost nature, but entirely without
reality and far removed from their pain. So also the
seriousness which is essential to it, which excludes the
absurd from its direct and peculiar province, is to be
explained by the fact that its object is not the idea, with
reference to which alone deception and absurdity are
possible ; but its object is directly the will, and this is
essentially the most serious of all things, for it is that on
which all depends. How rich in content and full of

342 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. in.

significance the language of music is, we see from the
repetitions, as well as the Da capo, the like of which
would be unbearable in works composed in a language
of words, but in music are very appropriate and beneficial,
for, in order to comprehend it fully, we must hear it
twice.

In the whole of this exposition of music I have been
trying to bring out clearly that it expresses in a perfectly
universal language, in a homogeneous material, mere tones,
and with the greatest determinateness and truth, the inner
nature, the in-itself of the world, which we think under
the concept of will, because will is its most distinct
manifestation. Further, according to my view and con-
tention, philosophy is nothing but a complete and accurate
repetition or expression of the nature of the world in
very general concepts, lor only in such is it possible to
get a view of that whole nature which will everywhere
be adequate and applicable. Thus, whoever has followed
me and entered into my mode of thought, will not think
it so very paradoxical if I say, that supposing it were
possible to give a perfectly accurate, complete explana-
tion of music, extending even to particulars, that is to
say, a detailed repetition in concepts of what it expresses,
this would also be a sufficient repetition and explanation
of the world in concepts, or at least entirely parallel to
such an explanation, and thus it would be the true
philosophy. Consequently the saying of Leibnitz quoted
above, which is quite accurate from a lower standpoint,
may be parodied in the following way to suit our higher
view of music : Miisica est exercitium metaphysices occul-
tum nescientis se philosophari animi ; for scire, to know,
always means to have fixed in abstract concepts. But
further, on account of the truth of the saying of Leibnitz,
which is confirmed in various ways, music, regarded apart
from its aesthetic or inner significance, and looked at
merely externally and purely empirically, is simply the
means of comprehending directly and in the concrete

THE PLATONIC IDEA: THE OBJECT OP ART. 343

large numbers and complex relations of numbers, which
otherwise we could only know indirectly by fixing them
in concepts. Therefore by the union of these two very
different but correct views of music we may arrive at a
conception of the possibility of a philosophy of number,
such as that of Pythagoras and of the Chinese in Y-King,
and then interpret in this sense the saying of the Pytha-
goreans which Sextus Empiricus quotes (adv. Math., L.
vii.) : r<p api6}i(p Be ra Train eireoiicev (iiumero cuncta
assimilantur). And if, finally, we apply this view to the
interpretation of harmony and melody given above, we
shall find that a mere moral philosophy without an
explanation of Nature, such as Socrates wanted to intro-
duce, is precisely analogous to a mere melody without
harmony, which Eousseau exclusively desired ; and, in
opposition to this mere physics and metaphysics without
ethics, will correspond to mere harmony without melody.
Allow me to add to these cursory observations a few more
remarks concerning the analogy of music with the pheno-
menal world. We found in the second book that the
highest grade of the objectification of will, man, could not
appear alone and isolated, but presupposed the grades
below him, as these again presupposed the grades lower
still In the same way music, which directly objectifies
the will, just as the world does, is complete only in full
harmony. In order to achieve its full effect, the high
leading voice of the melody requires the accompaniment
of all the other voices, even to the lowest bass, which is
to be regarded as the origin of all. The melody itself
enters as an integral part into the harmony, as the har-
mony enters into it, and only thus, in the full harmonious
whole, music expresses what it aims at expressing. Thus
also the one will outside of time finds its full objectifica-
tion only in the complete union of all the steps which
reveal its nature in the innumerable ascending grades of
distinctness. The following analogy is also very remark-
able. We have seen in the preceding book that not-

344 THE WORLD AS IDEA. bk. hi.

withstanding the self-adaptation of all the phenomena of
will to each other as regards their species, which con-
stitutes their teleological aspect, there yet remains an
unceasing conflict between those phenomena as indi-
viduals, which is visible at every grade, and makes the
world a constant battle-field of all those manifestations
of one and the same will, whose inner contradiction with
itself becomes visible through it. In music also there
is something corresponding to this. A complete, pure,
harmon ous system of tones is not only physically but
arithmetically impossible. The numbers themselves by
which the tones are expressed have inextricable irra-
tionality. There is no scale in which, when it is counted,
every fifth will be related to the keynote as 2 to 3,
every major third as 4 to 5, every minor third as 5 to 6,
and so on. For if they are correctly related to the key-
note, they can no longer be so to each other ; because,
for example, the fifth must be the minor third to the
third, &c. For the notes of the scale may be compared
to actors who must play now one part, now another.
Therefore a perfectly accurate system of music cannot
even be thought, far less worked out; and on this
account all possible music deviates from perfect purity ;
it can only conceal the discords essential to it by dividing
them among all the notes, ie., by temperament. On this
see Chladni's "Akustik," § 30, and his "Kurze Uebersicht
der Schall- und Klanglehre." x

I might still have something to say about the way in
which music is perceived, namely, in and through time
alone, with absolute exclusion of space, and also apart
from the influence of the knowledge of causality, thus
without understanding ; for the tones make the aesthetic
impression as effect, and without obliging us to go back
to their causes, as in the case of perception. I do not
wish, however, to lengthen this discussion, as I have per-
haps already gone too much into detail with regard to

1 Cf. Ch. xxxix. of Supplement.

THE PLATONIC IDEA: THE OBJECT OF ART. 345

some things in this Third Book, or have dwelt too much
on particulars. But my aim made it necessary, and it
will be the less disapproved if the importance and high
worth of art, which is seldom sufficiently recognised, be
kept in mind. For if, according to our view, the whole
visible world is just the objectification, the mirror, of the
will, conducting it to knowledge of itself, and, indeed, as
we shall soon see, to the possibility of its deliverance ;
and if, at the same time, the world as idea, if we regard
it in isolation, and, freeing ourselves from all volition,
allow it alone to take possession of our consciousness, is
the most joy-giving and the only innocent side of life ; we
must regard art as the higher ascent, the more complete
development of all this, for it achieves essentially just
what is achieved by the visible world itself, only with
greater concentration, more perfectly, with intention and
intelligence, and therefore may be called, in the full
significance of the word, the flower of life. If the whole
world as idea is only the visibility of will, the work of
art is to render this visibility more distinct. It is the
camera obscura which shows the objects more purely, and
enables us to survey them and comprehend them better.
It is the play within the play, the stage upon the stage t—
in " Hamlet."

The pleasure we receive from all beauty, the consola-
tion which art affords, the enthusiasm of the artist, which
enables him to forget the cares of life, — the latter an
advantage of the man of genius over other men, which
alone repays him for the suffering that increases in pro-
portion to the clearness of consciousness, and for the
desert loneliness among men of a different race, — all this
rests on the fact that the in-itself of life, the will, exist-
ence itself, is, as we shall see farther on, a constant
sorrow, partly miserable, partly terrible; while, on the
contrary, as idea alone, purely contemplated, or copied
by art, free from pain, it presents to us a drama full of
significance. This purely knowable side of the world,

346 TUB WORLD AS IDEA. bk. in.

and the copy of it in any art, is the element of the
artist. He is chained to the contemplation of the play,
the objectification of will; he remains beside it, does
not get tired of contemplating it and representing it in
copies ; and meanwhile he bears himself the cost of the
production of that play, i.e., he himself is the will which
objectifies itself, and remains in constant suffering. That
pure, true, and deep knowledge of the inner nature of
the world becomes now for him an end in itself : he stops
there. Therefore it does not become to him a quieter of
the will, as, we shall see in the next book, it does in the
case of the saint who has attained to resignation ; it does
not deliver him for ever from life, but only at moments,
and is therefore not for him a path out of life, but only
an occasional consolation in it, till his power, increased
by this contemplation and at last tired of the play, lays
hold on the real. The St Cecilia of Kaphael may be
regarded as a representation of this transition. To the
real, then, we now turn in the following book.

Jourtjj JSoofu

THE WORLD AS WILL

SECOND ASPECT.

fHE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL TO LIVE, WHEN
SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS HAS BEEN ATTAINED.

Tempore quo cognitio simul advenit, amor e medio supersurrexit.— -
Oupnek'hat, Studio AnquetU Duperron, vol. ii. p. 216.

( 349 )

IV.

§ 53* The last part of our work presents itself as the
most serious, for it relates to the action of men, the
matter which concerns every one directly and can be
foreign or indifferent to none. It is indeed so charac-
teristic of the nature of man to relate everything else to
action, that in every systematic investigation he will
always treat the part that has to do with action as the
result or outcome of the whole work, so far, at least, as
it interests him, and will therefore give his most serious
attention to this part, even if to no other. In this
respect the following part of our work would, in ordinary
language, be called practical philosophy, in opposition to
the theoretical, which has occupied us hitherto. But, in
my opinion, all philosophy is theoretical, because it is
essential to it that it should retain a purely contempla-
tive attitude, and should investigate, not prescribe. To
become, on the contrary, practical, to guide conduct, to
transform character, are old claims, which with fuller
insight it ought finally to give up. For here, where the
worth or worth lessness of an existence, where salvation
or damnation are in question, the dead conceptions of
philosophy do not decide the matter, but the inmost
nature of man himself, the Diemon that guides him and
that has not chosen him, but been chosen by him, as
Plato would say ; his intelligible character, as Kant
expresses himself. Virtue cannot be taught any more
than genius ; indeed, for it the concept is just as unfruit-
ful as it is in art, and in both cases can onlv be used as

350 THE WORLD AS WILL. wc. iv.

an instrument. It would, therefore, be just as absurd to
expect that our moral systems and ethics will produce
virtuous, noble, and holy men, as that our aesthetics will
produce poets, painters, and musicians.

Philosophy can never do more than interpret and
explain what is given. It can only bring to distinct
abstract knowledge of the reason the nature of the world
which in the concrete, that is, as feeling, expresses itself
comprehensibly to every one. This, however, it does in
every possible reference and from every point of view.
Now, as this attempt has been made from other points of
view in the three preceding books with the generality
that is proper to philosophy, in this book the action of
men will be considered in the same way ; and this side
of the world might, indeed, be considered the most im-
portant of all, not only subjectively, as I remarked above,
but also objectively. In considering it I shall faithfully
adhere to the method I have hitherto followed, and shall
support myself by presupposing all that has already been
advanced. There is, indeed, just one thought which forms
the content of this whole work. I have endeavoured to
work it out in all other spheres, and I shall now do so
with regard to human action. I shall then have done
all that is in my power to communicate it as fully as
possible.

The given point of view, and the method of treatment
announced, are themselves sufficient to indicate that in
this ethical book no precepts, no doctrine of duty must
be looked for; still less will a general moral principle
be given, an universal receipt, as it were, for the produc-
tion of all the virtues. Neither shall we talk of an
" absolute ought" for this contains a contradiction, as is
explained in the Appendix ; nor yet of a " law of freedom!*
which is in the same position. In general, we shall not
speak at all of "ought," for this is how one speaks to
children and to nations still in their childhood, but not
to those who have appropriated all the culture of a full-

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 351

grown age. It is a palpable contradiction to call the
will free, and yet to prescribe laws for it according to
which it ought to will. " Ought to will ! " — wooden iron !
But it follows from the point of view of our system that
the will is not only free, but almighty. From it proceeds
not only its^actionT but also its world ; and as JbETwill
is, "so does its action and its world become. Both are
the selHnowiedge of tnlT wiTr^anT^nothihg more. The
will determines itself, and at the same time both its
action and its world ; for besides it there is nothing, and
these are the will itself. Only thus is the will truly
autonomous, and from every other point of view it is
heteronomous. Our philosophical endeavours can only
extend to exhibiting and explaining the action of men
in its inner nature and contejii, the various and even
opposite maxims, whose living expression it is. This we
shall do in connection with the preceding portion of our
work, and in precisely the same way as we have hitherto
explained the other phenomena of the world, and have
sought to_ brings their inmost nature to distinct, abstract
jcnowledge. OuT~philosophy will maintain the same
immanency in the case of action, as in all that we have
hitherto considered. Notwithstanding Kant's great doc-
trine, it will not attempt to use the forms of the pheno-
menon, the universal expression of which is the principle
of sufficient reason, as a leaping-pole to jump over the
phenomenon itself, which alone gives meaning to these
forms, and land in the boundless sphere of empty fictions.
But this actual world of experience, in which jwe are, and
which is in us, remains both the material and thej^mite
of our consideration : a world which is so rich in content
that even the most searching investigation of which the
human mind is capable could not exhaust it. Since then
the real world of experience will never fail to afford
material and reality to our ethical investigations, any more
than to those we have already conducted, nothing will be
less needful than to take refuge in negative conceptions

352 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

void of content, and then somehow or other make even
ourselves believe that we are saying something when we
speak with lifted eyebrows of "absolutes," "infinites,"
" supersensibles," and whatever other mere negations of
this sort there may be (ovhev eon, rj to ttjs aTeprjaeco^;
ovofia, fiera a/jbvSpas eirwoui*; — nihil est, nisi negationis
nomen, cum obscura notione. — Jul. or. 5), instead of which
it would be shorter to say at once -cloud- cuckoo-town
(v€(p€\oKotcfcvyui) : we shall not require to serve up covered
empty dishes of this kind. Finally, we shall not in this
book, any more than in those which have preceded it,
narrate histories and give them out as philosophy. For
t we are of opinion that whoever supposes that the inner
v nature of the world can m any way, however plausibly

disguised, be historically comprehended, is in finitely far
from a philosophical knowledge of the world. Yet this is
what is supposed whenever a a becoming," or a " having
become," or an " about to become " enters into a theory of
the nature of the world, whenever an earlier or a later has
the least place in it ; and in this way a beginning and an
end of the world, and the path it pursues between them, is,
either openly or disguisedly, both sought for and found,
and the individual who philosophises even recognises his
own position on that path. Such historical philosophis-
ing in most cases produces a cosmogony which admits
of many varieties, or else a system of emanations, a doc-
trine of successive disengagements from one being; or,
finally, driven in despair from fruitless efforts upon these
paths to the last path of all, it takes refuge in the con-
verse doctrine of a constant becoming, springing up, aris-
ing, coming to light out of darkness, out of the hidden
ground source or groundlessness, or whatever other non-
sense of this sort there may be, which is most shortly
disposed of with the remark that at the 1 ; esent moment a
whole eternity, i.e., an endless time, has already passed, so
that everything that can or ought to become must have
already done so. For all such historical philosophy, what-

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 353

ever airs it may give itself, regards time just as if Kant
had never lived, as a quality of the thing- in-itself, and thus
stops at that which Kant calls the phenomenon in oppo-
sition to the thing-in-itself ; which Plato calls the becom-
ing and never being, in opposition to the being and never
becoming; and winch, finally, is called in the Indian *
philosophy the web of Maya. It is just the knowledge \
which belongs to the principle of sufficient reason, with
which no one can penetrate to the inner nature of
things, but endlessly pursues phenomena, moving without
end or aim, like a squirrel in its wheel, till, tired out
at last, he stops at some point or other arbitrarily
chosen, and now desires to extort respect for it from
others also. The genuine philosophical consideration
of the world, i.e., the consideration that affords us a
knowledge of its inner nature, and so leads us beyond
the phenomenon, is precisely that method which does
not concern itself with the whence, the whither, and
the why of the world, but always and everywhere
demands only the what; the method which considers
things not according to any relation, not as becoming
and passing away, in short, not according to one of the
four forms of the principle of sufficient reason ; but, on
the contrary, just that which remains when all that
belongs to the form of knowledge proper to that prin-
ciple has been abstracted, the inner nature of the world,
which always appears unchanged in all the relations,
but is itself never subject to them, and has the Ideas of
the world as its object or material. From such knowledge
as this proceeds philosophy, like art, and also, as we
shall see in this book, that disposition of mind which
alone leads to true holiness and to deliverance from the
world.

§ 54. The first three books will, it is hoped, have
conveyed the distinct and certain knowledge that the
world as idea is the complete mirror of the will, in !
wnTch it knows itself in ascending"grades" of distinctness

354

THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

>

and completeness, the highest of which is man, whose
I nature, however, receives its complete expression only
I through the whole connected series of his actions. The
self-conscious connection of these actions is made pos-
sible by reason, which enables a man constantly to survey
the whole in the abstract.

The will, which, considered purely in itself, is without
knowledge, and is merely a blind incessant impulse, as
we see it appear in unorganised and vegetable nature
and their laws, and also in the vegetative part of our
own life, receives through the addition of the world as
idea, which is developed in subjection to it, the know-
ledge of its own williDg and of what it is that it wills.
And this is nothing else than the world as idea, life,
[/precisely as it exists. Therefore we called the pheno-
!/menal world the mirror of the will, its objectivity.
And since what the will wills is always life, just because
life is nothing but the representation of that willing
for the idea, it is all one and a mere pleonism if,
instead of simply saying " the will," we say " the will to
live."

Will is the thing - in - itself, the inner content, the
essence of the world. Life, the visible woild, the
phenomenon, is only the mirror of the wilL Therefore
life accompanies the will as inseparably as the shadow
accompanies the body ; and if will exists, so will life, the
world, exist. Life is, therefore, assured to the will to
live ; and so long as we are filled with the will to live we
need have no fear for our existence, even in the presence
of death. It is true we see the individual come into
being and pass away ; but the individual is only pheno-
menal, exists only for the knowledge which is bound to
the principle of sufficient reason, to the principio indi-
viduationis. Certainly, for this kind of knowledge, the
individual receives his life as a gift, rises out of nothing,
then suffers the loss of this gift through death, and
returns again to nothing. But we desire to consider life

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 355

philosophically, i.e., according to its Ideas, and in this
sphere we shall find that neither the will, the thing-
in- itself in all phenomena, nor the subject of knowing,
that which perceives all phenomena, is affected at all by
birth or by death. Birth and death belong merely to the
phenomenon of will, thus to life ; and it is essential to
this to exhibit itself in individuals which come into being
and pass away, as fleeting phenomena appearing in the
form of time — phenomena of that which in itself knows
no time, but must exhibit itself precisely in the way we
have said, in order to objectify its peculiar nature. Birth
and death belong in like manner to life, and hold the
balance as reciprocal conditions of each other, or, if one
likes the expression, as poles of the whole phenomenon
of life. The wisest of all mythologies, the Indian, ex-
presses this by giving to the very god that symbolises
destruction, death (as Brahma, the most sinful and the
lowest god of the Trimurti, symbolises generation, coming
into being, and Vishnu maintaining or preserving), by
i giving, I say, to Siva as an attribute not only the neck-
lace of skulls, but also the lingam, the symbol of genera-
tion, which appears here as the counterpart of death, thus
signifying that generation and death are essentially cor-
relatives, which reciprocally neutralise and annul each
other. It was precisely the same sentiment that led the
Greeks and Romans to adorn their costly sarcophagi, just
as we see them now, with feasts, dances, marriages, the
chase, fights of wild beasts, bacchanalians, &c. ; thus with
representations of the fuU ardour of life, which they place
before us not only in such revels and sports, but also in
sensual groups, and even go so far as to represent the
sexual intercourse of satyrs and goats. Clearly the aim
was to point in the most impressive manner away from
the death of the mourned individual to the immortal life
of nature, and thus to indicate, though without abstract
knowledge, that the whole of nature is the phenomenon
and also the fulfilment of the will to live. The form of

•

356 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. it.

this phenomenon is time, space, and causality, and by
means of these individuation, which carries with it that
the individual must come into being and pass away. But
this no more affects the will to live, of whose manifesta-
tion the individual is, as it were, only a particular exam-
ple or specimen, than the death of an individual injures
~the whole of nature. For it is not the individual, but
only the species that Nature cares for, and for the preser-
vation of which she so earnestly strives, providing for it
with the utmost prodigality through the vast surplus of
the seed and the great strength of the fructifying im-
pulse. The individual, on the contrary, neither has nor
can have any value for Nature, for her kingdom is infi-
nite time and infinite space, and in these infinite mul-
tiplicity of possible individuals. Therefore she is always
ready to let the individual fall, and hence it is not only
exposed to destruction in a thousand ways by the most
insignificant accident, but originally destined for it, and
conducted towards it by Nature herself from the moment
it has served its end of maintaining the species. Thus
Nature naively expresses the great truth that only the
Ideas, not the individuals, have, properly speaking, reality,
i.e., are complete objectivity of the will. Now, since
man is Nature itself, and indeed Nature at the highest
grade of its self-consciousness, but Nature is only the
objectified will to live, the man who has comprehended
and retained this point of view may well console himself,
when contemplating his own death and that of his friends,
by turning his eyes to the immortal life of Nature, which
he himself is. This is the significance of Siva with the
lingam, and of those ancient sarcophagi with their pictures
of glowing life, which say to the mourning beholder,
Natura non contristatur.

That generation and death are to be regarded as some-
thing belonging to life, and essential to this phenomenon
of the will, arises also from the fact that they both ex-
hibit themselves merely as higher powers of the expres-

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 357

sion of that in which all the rest of life consists. This
is through and through nothing else than the constant
change of matter in the fixed permanence of form ; and
this is what constitutes the transitoriness of the indivi-
dual and the permanence of the species. Constant nour-
ishment and renewal differ from generation only in degree,
and constant excretion differs only in degree from death.
The first shows itself most simply and distinctly in the
plant. The plant is throughout a constant recurrence of
the same impulse of its simplest fibre, which groups
itself into leaf and branch. It is a systematic aggregate
of similar plants supporting each other, whose constant
reproduction is its single impulse. It ascends to the full
satisfaction of this tendency through the grades of its
metamorphosis, finally to the blossom and fruit, that
compendium of its existence and effort in which it now
attains, by a short way, to that which is its single aim,
and at a stroke produces a thousand-fold what, up till
then, it effected only in the particular case — the repe-
tition of itself. Its earlier growth and development
stands in the same relation to its fruit as writing stands
to printing. With the animal it is clearly quite the
same. The process of nourishing is a constant repro-
duction fthe process" of '"reproduction is a higher power
of nourishing. The pleasure which accompanies the act
of procreation is a higher power of the agreeableness of
the sense of life. On the other hand, excretion, the con-
stant exhalation and throwing off of matter, is the same
as that which, at a higher power, death, is the contrary
of generation. And if here we are always content to
retain the form without lamenting the discarded matter,
we ought to bear ourselves in the same way if in death
the same thing happens, in a higher degree and to the
whole, as takes place daily and hourly in a partial
manner in excretion : if we are indifferent to the one,
we ought not to shrink from the other. | Therefore, from
this point of view, it appears just as perverse to desire

35» THE WORLD AS WILL. BK. iv.

the continuance of an individuality which will be re*
placed by other individuals as to desire the permanence
of matter which will be replaced by other matter. It
appears just as foolish to embalm the body as it would

;*i>e carefully to preserve its excrement. As to the indi-
vidual consciousness which is bound to the individual
body, it is absolutely interrupted every day by sleep.
Deep sleep is, while it lasts, in no way different from
death, into which, in fact, it often passes continuously, as
in the case of freezing to death. It differs only with
regard to the future, the awaking. Death is a sleep in
which individuality is forgotten; everything else wakes

■ again, or rather never slept1

Above all things, we must distinctly recognise that
the form of the phenomenon of will, the form of life or
reality, is really only the present, not the future nor the
past. The latter are only in the conception, exist only
in the connection of knowledge, so far as it follows the
principle of sufficient reason. No man has ever lived in
the past, and none will live in the future ; the present
alone is the form of all life, and is its sure possession
which can never be taken from it. The present always
exists, together with its content. Both remain fixed
without wavering, like the rainbow on the waterfall.
For life is firm and certain in the will, and the present
is firm and certain in life. Certainly, if we reflect on

1 The following remark may assist ourselves in ourselves, and indepen-

those for whom it is not too subtle dent of the objects of knowledge and

to understand clearly that the indi- will. Now this is by no means

vidua! is only the phenomenon, not possible, for as soon as we turn into

the thing in itself. Every indi- ourselves to make the attempt, and

vidual is, on the one hand, the seek for once to know ourselves fully

subject of knowing, i.e., the comple- by means of introspective reflection,

mental condition of the possibility we are lost in a bottomless void; we

of the whole objective world, and, find ourselves like the hollow glass

on the other hand, a particular globe, from out of which a voice

phenomenon of will, the same will speaks whose cause is not to be

which objectifies itself in every- found in it, and whereas we desired

thing. But this double nature of to comprehend ourselves, we find,

our being does not rest upon a self- with a shudder, nothing but ft

existing unity, otherwise it would vanishing spectre,
be possible for us to be conscious of

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 359

the thousands of years that are past, of the millions of
men who lived in them, we ask, What were they?
what has become of them ? But, on the other hand, we
need only recall our own past life and renew its scenes
vividly in our imagination, and then ask again, What
was all this ? what has become of it ? As it is with it,
so is it with the life of those millions. Or should we
suppose that the past could receive a new existence be-
cause it has been sealed by death ? Our own past, the
most recent part of it, and even yesterday, is now no
more than an empty dream of the fancy, and such is the
past of all those millions. What was ? What is ? The
will, of which life is the mirror, and knowledge free from
will, which beholds it clearly in that mirror. Whoever
has not yet recognised this, or will not recognise it, must
add to the question asked above as to the fate of past
generations of men this question also: Why he, the
questioner, is so fortunate as to be conscious of this costly,
fleeting, and only real present, while those hundreds of
generations of men, even the heroes and philosophers of
those ages, have sunk into the night of the past, and
have thus become nothing; but he, his insignificant
ego, actually exists ? or more shortly, though somewhat
strangely : Why this now, his now, is just now and was
not long ago ? Since he asks such strange questions, he
regards his existence and his time as independent of each
other, and the former as projected into the latter. He
assumes indeed two nows — one which belongs to the
object, the other which belongs to the subject, and
marvels at the happy accident of their coincidence. But
in truth, only the point of contact of the object, the form
of which is time, with the subject, which has no mode of
the principle of sufficient reason as its form, constitutes
the present, as is shown in the essay on the principle of
sufficient reason. Now all object is the will so far as it
has become idea, and the subject is the necessary cor-
relative of the object. But real objects are only in the

360 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

present ; the past and the future contain only conceptions
and fancies, therefore the present is the essential form
of the phenomenon of the will, and inseparable from it.
The present alone is that which always exists and re-
mains immovable. That which, empirically apprehended,
is the most transitory of all, presents itself to the meta-
physical vision, which sees beyond the forms of empirical
perception, as that which alone endures, the nunc stans
of the schoolmen. The source and the supporter of
its content is the will to live or the thing -in -itself,
— which we are. That which constantly becomes and
passes away, in that it has either already been or is
still to be, belongs to the phenomenon as such on
account of its forms, which make coming into being
and passing away possible. Accordingly, we must
think : — Quidfuit ? — Quod est. Quid erit ? — Quod fiiit ;
and take it in the strict meaning of the words; thus
understand not simile but idem. For life is certain to
the will, and the present is certain to life. Thus it
is that every one can say, " I am once for all lord of
the present, and through all eternity it will accompany
me as my shadow : therefore I do not wonder where it
has come from, and how it happens that it is exactly
now." We might compare time to a constantly re-
volving sphere ; the half that was always sinking would
be the past, that which was always rising would be the
future ; but the indivisible point at the top, where the
tangent touches, would be the extensionless present.
As the tangent does not revolve with the sphere, neither
does the present, the point of contact of the object, the
form of which is time, with the subject, which lias no
form, because it does not belong to the knowable, but
is the condition of all that is knowable. Or, time is
like an unceasing stream, and the present a rock on
which the stream breaks itself, but does not carry
away with it. The will, as thing-in-itself, is just as
little subordinate to the principle of sufficient reason

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 361

as the subject of knowledge, which, finally, in a certain
regard is the will itself or its expression. And as life,
its own phenomenon, is assured to the will, so is the
present, the single form of real life. Therefore we
have not to investigate the past before life, nor the
future after death : we have rather to know the present,
the one form in which the will manifests itself.1 It
will not escape from the will, but neither will the wilL
escape from it. If, therefore, life as it is satisfies, I
whoever affirms it in every way may regard it with
confidence as endless, and banish the fear of death as
an illusion that inspires him with the foolish dread that
he can ever be robbed of the present, and foreshadows
a time in which there is no present ; an illusion with
regard to time analogous to the illusion with regard to
space through which every one imagines the position on
the globe he happens to occupy as above, and all other
places as below. In the same way every one links the
present to his own individuality, and imagines that all
present is extinguished with it; that then past and
future might be without a present. But as on the sur-
face of the globe every place is above, so the form of all
life is the present, and to fear death because it robs us of
the present, is just as foolish as to fear that we may slip
down from the round globe upon which we have now the
good fortune to occupy the upper surface. The present is
the form essential to the objectification of the will. It
cuts time, which extends infinitely in both directions, as~
a mathematical point, and stands immovably fixed, like
an everlasting mid-day with no cool evening, as the
actual sun burns without intermission, while it only
seems to sink into the bosom of night. Therefore, if
a man fears death as his annihilation, it is just as if he
were to think that the sun cries out at evening, " Woe is

1 " Scholastici docuerunt, quod quod erat Nunc Adaino, i.e., inter

tttcrnitaa non sit temporis sine fine nunc et tunc nullam esse differen-

aut principio successio ; sed Nunc tiam." — Hobbes, Leviathan, 0. 46.
ttam. i.e., idem nobis Nunc esse.

,

3^2 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

me ! for I go down into eternal night." * And conversely,
whoever is oppressed with the burden of life, whoever
desires life and affirms it, but abhors its torments, and
especially can no longer endure the hard lot that has
fallen to himself, such a man has no deliverance to hope
for from death, and cannot right himself by suicide. The
cool shades of Orcus allure him only with the false appear-
ance of a haven of rest. The earth rolls from day into
night, the individual dies, but the sun itself shines with-
out intermission, an eternal noon. Life is assured to the
will to live ; the form of life is an endless present, no
matter how the individuals, the phenomena of the Idea,
arise and pass away in time, like fleeting dreams. Thus
even already suicide appears to us as a vain and therefore
a foolish action ; when we have carried our investigation
further it will appear to us in a still less favourable light
Dogmas change and our knowledge is deceptive ; but
Nature never errs, her procedure is sure, and she nevei
conceals it. Everything is entirely in Nature, and Nature
is entire in everything. She has her centre in every
brute. It has surely found its way into existence, and
it will surely find its way out of it. In the meantime it
lives, fearless and without care, in the presence of annihi-
lation, supported by the consciousness that it is Nature
herself, and imperishable as she is. Man alone carries
about with him, in abstract conceptions, the certainty of
his death; yet this can only trouble him very rarely,

1 In Eckermann's " Conversations passage, for it occurs in the first

of Goethe" (vol. i. p. 161), Goethe edition, p. 401, in exactly the same

says : " Our spirit is a being of a words, and it is also repeated at

nature quite indestructible, and its p. 528 of that edition, as at the

activity continues from eternity to close of § 65 of the present work,

eternity. It is like the sun, which The first edition was sent to him in

seems to set only to our earthly December 1818, and in March 1819,

eyes, but which, in reality, never when I was at Naples, he sent me

sets, but shines on unceasingly." his congratulations by letter, through

Goethe has taken the simile from my sister, and enclosed a piece of

me ; not I from him. Without paper upon which he had noted the

doubt he used it in this conversa- places of certain passages which had

tion, which was held in 1824, in specially pleased him. Thus he had

consequence of a (possibly uncon- read my book.
•cious) reminiscence of the above

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 363

when for a single moment some occasion calls it up to his
imagination. Against the mighty voice of Nature reflec-
tion can do little. In man, as in the brute which does
not think, the certainty that springs from his inmost con-
sciousness that he himself is Nature, the world, predomi-
nates as a lasting frame of mind ; and on account of this
no man is observably disturbed by the thought of certain
and never- distant death, but lives as if he would live for
ever. Indeed this is carried so far that we may say that
no one has really a lively conviction of the certainty of
his death, otherwise there would be no great difference
between his frame of mind and that of a condemned cri-
minal. Every one recognises that certainty in the abstract
and theoretically, but lays it aside like other theoretical
truths which are not applicable to practice, without really
receiving it into his living consciousness. Whoever care-
fully considers this peculiarity of human character will
see that the psychological explanations of it, from habit
and acquiescence in the inevitable, are by no means suffi-
cient, and that its true explanation lies in the deeper
ground we have given. The same fact explains the cir-
cumstance that at all times and among all peoples dog-
mas of some kind or other relating to the continued
existence of the individual after death arise, and are
believed in, although the evidence in support of them must
always be very insufficient, and the evidence against them
forcible and varied. But, in truth, this really requires
no proof, but is recognised by the healthy understanding
as a fact, and confirmed by the confidence that Nature
never lies any more than she errs, but openly exhibits
and naively expresses her action and her nature, while
only we ourselves obscure it by our folly, in order to
establish what is agreeable to our limited point of view.

But this that we have brought to clearest conscious-
ness, that although the particular phenomenon of the will
has a temporal beginning and end, the will itself as thing-
in-itself is not affected by it, nor yet the correlative of

364 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv

all object, the knowing but never known subject, and
"that life is always assured to the will to live — this is not
to be numbered with the doctrines of immortality. For
permanence has no more to do with the will or with the
pure subject of knowing, the eternal eye of the world,
than transitoriness, for both are predicates that are only
valid in time, and the will and the pure subject of know-
ing lie outside time. Therefore the egoism of the in-
dividual (this particular phenomenon of will enlightened
by the subject of knowing) can extract as little nourish-
ment and consolation for his wish to endure through
endless time from the view we have expressed, as he
could from the knowledge that after his death the rest
of the eternal world would continue to exist, which is
just the expression of the same view considered objec-
tively, and therefore temporally. For every individual is
transitory only as phenomenon, but as thing-in-itself is
timeless, and therefore endless. But it is also only as
phenomenon that an individual is distinguished from the
other things of the world; as thing-in-itself he is the
will which appears in all, and death destroys the illusion
which separates his consciousness from that of the
rest: this is immortality. His exemption from death,
which belongs to him only as thing-in-itself, is for
the phenomenon one with the immortality of the rest
of the external world.1 Hence also, it arises that
although the inward and merely felt consciousness of that
which we have raised to distinct knowledge is indeed, as
we have said, sufficient to prevent the thought of death
from poisoning the life of the rational being, because
this consciousness is the basis of that love of life which
maintains everything living, and enables it to live on

1 This is expressed in the Veda also by the fact that, in a special

by saying, that when a man dies his ceremony, the dying man gives over

sight becomes one with the sun, his his senses and all his faculties singly

smell with the earth, his taste with to his son, in whom they are now

water, his hearing with the air, his supposed to live on (Oupnek'hat,

speech with fire, &c, &c. (Oupnek'- vol. ii. p. 82 et aeq.)
hat, vul. i. p. 249 it seq.) And

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 365

at ease as if there were no such thing as death, so
long as it is face to face with life, and turns its
attention to it, yet it will not prevent the individual
from being seized with the fear of death, and trying
in every way to escape from it, when it presents itself
to him in some particular real case, or even only in
his imagination, and he is compelled to contemplate it
For just as, so long as his knowledge was directed
to life as such, he was obliged to recognise immortality
in it, so when death is brought before his eyes, he is
obliged to recognise it as that which it is, the temporal
end of the particular temporal phenomenon. What we
fear in death is by no means the pain, for it lies clearly
on this side of death, and, moreover, we often take refuge
in death from pain, just as, on the contrary, we sometimes
endure the most fearful suffering merely to escape death
for a while, although it would be quick and easy. Thus
we distinguish pain and death as two entirely different
evils. What we fear in death is the end of the indivi-
dual, which it openly professes itself to be, and since the
individual is a particular objectification of the will to
live itself, its whole nature struggles against death. Now
when feeling thus exposes us helpless, reason can yet
step in and for the most part overcome its adverse influ-
ence, for it places us upon a higher standpoint, from
which we no longer contemplate the particular but the
whole. Therefore a philosophical knowledge of the nature
of the world, which extended to the point we have now
reached in this work but went no farther, could even at
this point of view overcome the terror of death in the
measure in which reflection had power over direct feeling
in the given individual. A man who had thoroughly
assimilated the truths we have already advanced, but had
not come to know, either from his own experience or
from a deeper insight, that constant suffering is essential
to life, who found satisfaction and all that he wished in
life, and could calmly and deliberately desire that his

366 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

life, as he had hitherto known it, should endure for ever
or repeat itself ever anew, and whose love of life was so
great that he willingly and gladly accepted all the hard-
ships and miseries to which it is exposed for the sake of
its pleasures, — such a man would stand " with firm-knit
bones on the well-rounded, enduring earth," and would
have nothing to fear. Armed with the knowledge we
have given him, he would await with indifference the
death that hastens towards him on the wings of time.
He would regard it as a false illusion, an impotent spectre,
which frightens the weak but has no power over him
who knows that he is himself the will of which the whole
world is the objectification or copy, and that therefore he
: is always certain of life, and also of the present, the
peculiar and only form of the phenomenon of the wilL
He could not be terrified by an endless past or future in
which he would not be, for this he would regard as the
empty delusion of the web of Maya. Thus he would no
more fear death than the sun fears the night. In the
"Bhagavad-Gita" Krishna thus raises the mind of his young
pupil Arjuna, when, seized with compunction at the sight
of the arrayed hosts (somewhat as Xerxes was), he loses
heart and desires to give up the battle in order to avert
the death of so many thousands. Krishna leads him to
this point of view, and the death of those thousands can
no longer restrain him ; he gives the sign for battle. This
point of view is also expressed by Goethe's Prometheus,
especially when he says —

" Here sit I, form mankind
In my own image,
A race like to myself,
To suffer and to weep,
Rejoice, enjoy,
And heed thee not,
As I."

The philosophy of Bruno and that of Spinoza might also
lead any one to this point of view whose conviction was

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 367

not shaken and weakened by their errors and imperfec-
tions. That of Bruno has properly no ethical theory at
all, and the theory contained in the philosophy of Spinoza
does not really proceed from the inner nature of his doc-
trine, but is merely tacked on to it by means of weak and
palpable sophisms, though in itself it is praiseworthy and
beautiful Finally, there are many men who would occupy
this point of view if their knowledge kept pace with
their will, i.e., if, free from all illusion, they were in
a position to become clearly and distinctly themselves.
For this is, for knowledge, the point of view of the com-
plete assertion of the will to live. J

That the will asserts itself means, that while in its
objectivity, ie., in the world and life, its own nature is
completely and distinctly given it as idea, this knowledge
does not by any means check its volition ; but this very
life, so known, is willed as such by the will with know-
ledge, consciously and deliberately, just as up to this
point it willed it as blind effort without knowledge. The
opposite of this, the denial of the will to live, shows itself
if, when that knowledge is attained, volition ends, because
the particular known phenomena no longer act as motives
for willing, but the whole knowledge of the nature of the
world, the mirror of the will, which has grown up through
the comprehension of the Ideas, becomes a quieter of the
will ; and thus free, the will suppresses itsej.i j These quite
unfamiliar conceptions are difficult to understand when
expressed in this general way, but it is hoped they will
become clear through the exposition we shall give pre-
sently, with special reference to action, of the phenomena
in which, on the one hand, the assertion in its different
grades, and, on the other hand, the denial, expresses itself.
For both proceed from knowledge, yet not from abstract
knowledge, which is expressed in words, but from living
knowledge, which is expressed in action and behaviour
alone, and is independent of the dogmas which at the
same time occupy the reason as abstract knowledge. To J*

368 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

exhibit them both, and brin^ them to distinct knowledge
of the reason, can alone be my aim, and not to prescribe
or recommend the one or the other, which would be as
foolish as it would be useless ; for the will in itself is
absolutely free and entirely self-determining, and for it
there is no law. But before we go on to the exposition
referred to, we must first explain and more exactly define
this freedom and its relation to necessity. And also, with
regard to the life, the assertion and denial of which is
our problem, we must insert a few general remarks con-
nected with the will and its objects. Through all this
we shall facilitate the apprehension of the inmost nature
of the knowledge we are aiming at, of the ethical signifi-
cance of methods of action.

Since, as has been said, this whole work is only the
unfolding of a single thought, it follows that all its parts
have the most intimate connection with each other. Not
merely that each part stands in a necessary relation to
what immediately precedes it, and only presupposes a
recollection of that by the reader, as is the case with all
philosophies which consist merely of a series of inferences,
but that every part of the whole work is related to every
other part and presupposes it. It is, therefore, necessary
that the reader should remember not only what has just
been said, but all the earlier parts of the work, so that
he may be able to connect them with what he is reading,
however much may have intervened. Plato also makes
this demand upon his readers through the intricate digres-
sions of his dialogues, in which he only returns to the
leading thought after long episodes, which illustrate and
explain it In our case this demand is necessary; for
the breaking up of our one single thought into its many
aspects is indeed the only means of imparting it, though
not essential to the thought itself, but merely an artificial
form. The division of four principal points of view into
four books, and the most careful bringing together of all
that is related and homogeneous, assists the exposition

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 369

and its comprehension ; yet the material absolutely does
not admit of an advance in a straight line, such as the
progress of history, but necessitates a more complicated
exposition. This again makes a repeated study of the
book necessary, for thus alone does the connection of all
the parts with each other become distinct, and only then
do they all mutually throw light upon each other and
become quite clear.1

§ 5 5. That the will as such is free, follows from the g V
fact that, according to our view, it is the thing-in-itself,
the content of all phenomena. The phenomena, on the
other hand, we recognise as absolutely subordinate to
the principle of sufficient reason in its four forms.
And since we know that necessity is throughout iden-
tical with following from given grounds, and that these
are convertible conceptions, all that belongs to the
phenomenon, i.e., all that is object for the knowing
subject as individual, is in one aspect reason, and in
another aspect consequent; and in this last capacity is
determined with absolute necessity, and can, therefore, in
no respect be other than it is. The whole content of
Nature, the collective sum of its phenomena, is thus
throughout necessary, and the necessity of every part,
of every phenomenon, of every event, can always be
proved, because it must be possible to find the reason
from which it follows as a consequent. This admits
of no exception: it follows from the unrestricted vali-
dity of the principle of sufficient reason. In another
aspect, however, the same world is for us, in all its
phenomena, objectivity of will. And the will, since it
is not phenomenon, is not idea or object, but thing-in-
itself, and is not subordinate to the principle of suffi-
cient reason, the form of all object ; thus is not deter-
mined as a consequent through any reason, knows no
necessity, i.e., is free. The concept of freedom is thus

1 Cf. Chap. xli.-xliv. of Supplement.
VOL. I. 2 A

J70 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

properly a negative concept, for its content is merely
the denial of necessity, i.e., the relation of consequent
to its reason, according to the principle of sufficient
reason. Now here lies before us in its most distinct
form the solution of that great contradiction, the union
of freedom with necessity, which has so often been
discussed in recent times, yet, so far as I know, never
clearly and adequately. Everything is as phenomenon,
as object, absolutely necessary : in itself it is will, which
is perfectly free to all eternity. The phenomenon, the
object, is necessarily and unalterably determined in that
chain of causes and effects which admits of no inter-
ruption. But the existence in general of this object,
and its specific nature, i.e., the Idea which reveals
itself in it, or, in other words, its character, is a direct
manifestation of wilL Thus, in conformity with the
freedom of this will, the object might not be at all, or
it might be originally and essentially something quite
different from what it is, in which case, however, the
whole chain of which it is a link, and which is itself a
manifestation of the same will, would be quite different
also. But once there and existing, it has entered the
chain of causes and effects, is always necessarily
determined in it, and can, therefore, neither become some-
thing else, i.e., change itself, nor yet escape from the
chain, i.e.y vanish. Man, like every other part of Nature,
is objectivity of the will ; therefore all that has been said
holds good of him. As everything in Nature has its
forces and qualities, which react in a definite way when
definitely affected, and constitute its character, man also
has his character, from which the motives call forth his
actions with necessity. In this manner of conduct his
empirical character reveals itself, but in this again his
intelligible character, the will in itself, whose determined
phenomenon he is. But man is the most complete pheno-
menon of will, and, as we explained in the Second Book, he
had to be enlightened with so high a degree of knowledge

t

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 371

in order to maintain himself in existence, that in it a per-
fectly adequate copy or repetition of the nature of the world
under the form of the idea became possible : this is the com-
prehension of the Ideas, the pure mirror of the world, as we
earnt in the Third Book. Thus in man the will can attain
to full self-consciousness, to distinct and exhaustive know-
ledge of its own nature, as it mirrors itself in the whole world.
We saw in the preceding book that art springs from the
actual presence of this degree of knowledge ; and at the
end of our whole work it will further appear that, through
the same knowledge, in that the will relates it to itself, a
suppression and self-denial of the will in its most perfect (
manifestation is possible. So that the freedom which
otherwise, as belonging to the thing-in-itself, can never
show itself in the phenomenon, in such a case does also
appear in it, and, by abolishing the nature which lies at
the foundation of the phenomenon, while the latter itself
still continues to exist in time, it brings about a contra-
diction of the phenomenon with itself, and in this way
exhibits the phenomena of holiness and self-renuncia-
tion. But all this can only be fully understood at
the end of this book. What has just been said
merely affords a preliminary and general indication of
how man is distinguished from all the other phenomena
of will by the fact that freedom, i.e., independence of
the principle of sufficient reason, which only belongs
to the will as thing-in-itself, and contradicts the
phenomenon, may yet possibly, in his case, appear in the
phenomenon also, where, however, it necessarily exhibits
itself as a contradiction of the phenomenon with itself.
In this sense, not only the will in itself, but man also
may certainly be called free, and thus distinguished from
all other beings. But how this is to be understood can
only become clear through all that is to follow, and for
the present we must turn away from it altogether. For,
in the first place, we must beware of the error that the
action of the individual definite man is subject to no

372 THE WORLD AS WILL. nK. iv

necessity, i.e., that the power of the. motive is less certain
than the power of the cause, or the following of the con-
clusion from the premises. The freedom of the will as
thing-in-itself, if, as has been said, we abstract from the
entirely exceptional case mentioned above, by no means
extends directly to its phenomenon, not even in the case
in which this reaches the highest ^rade of its visibility,
and thus does not extend to the rational animal endowed
with individual character, i.e., the person. The person is
never free although he is the phenomenon of a free will ;
for he is already the determined phenomenon of the free
volition of this will, and, because he enters the form of
every object, the principle of sufficient reason, he develops
indeed the unity of that will in a multiplicity of actions,
but on account of the timeless unity of that volition in
itself, this multiplicity exhibits in itself the regular con-
formity to law of a force of Nature. Since, however, it is
that free volition that becomes visible in the person and
the whole of his conduct, relating itself to him as the
concept to the definition, every individual action of the
person is to be ascribed to the free will, and directly pro-
claims itself as such in consciousness. Therefore, as was
said in the Second Book, every one regards himself a
priori (i.e., here in this original feeling) as free in his
individual actions, in the sense that in every given case
every action is possible for him, and he only recognises
a posteriori from experience and reflection upon experi-
ence that his actions take place with absolute necessity
from the coincidence of his character with his motives.
Hence it arises that every uncultured man, following his
feeling, ardently defends complete freedom in particular
actions, while the great thinkers of all ages, and indeed
the more profound systems of religion, have denied it
But whoever has come to see clearly that the whole
nature of man is will, and he himself only a phenomenon
of this will, and that such a phenomenon has, even from
the subject itself, the principle of sufficient reason as its

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 373

necessary form, which here appears as the law of motiva-
tion,— such a man will regard it as just as absurd to
doubt the inevitable nature of an action when the motive
is presented to a given character, as to doubt that the
three angles of any triangle are together equal to two
right angles. Priestley has very sufficiently proved the
necessity of the individual action in his "Doctrine of
Philosophical Necessity ; " but Kant, whose merit in this
respect is specially great, first proved the coexistence
of this necessity with the freedom of the will in itself,
i.e., apart from the phenomenon,1 by establishing the dis-
tinction between the intelligible and the empirical character.
I entirely adhere to this distinction, for the former is the
will as thing-in-itself so far as it appears in a definite indi-
vidual in a definite grade, and the latter is this phenomenon
itself as it exhibits itself in time in the mode of action, and
in space in the physical structure. In order to make the
relation of the two comprehensible, the best expression is
that which I have already used in the introductory essay,
that the intelligible character of every man is to be re-
garded as an act of will outside time, and therefore
indivisible and unchangeable, and the manifestation of
this act of will developed and broken up in time and
space and all the forms of the principle of sufficient
reason is the empirical character as it exhibits itself for
experience in the whole conduct and life of this man.
As the whole tree is only the constantly repeated mani-
festation of one and the same tendency, which exhibits
itself in its simplest form in the fibre, and recurs and is
easily recognised in the construction of the leaf, shoot,
branch, and trunk, so all a man's deeds are merely the
constantly repeated expression, somewhat varied in form,
of his intelligible character, and the induction based on
the sum of all these expressions gives us his empirical

] " Critique of Pure Reason," first tical Reason," fourth edition, pp.
edition, pp. 532-558; fifth edition, 169-179; Rosenkranz's edition, pp.
pp. 560-586 ; and " Critique of Prac- 224-231.

u

v

374 THE WOflLD ^5 W/LL. bk. iv.

character. For the rest, I shall not at this point repeat
in my own words Kant's masterly exposition, but pre-
suppose it as known.

In the year 1840 I dealt with the important chapter
on the freedom of the will, thoroughly and in detail, in
my crowned prize-essay upon the subject, and exposed
the reason of the delusion which led men to imagine that
they found an empirically given absolute freedom of the
will, that is to say, a liberum arhitrium indiffcrentioe, as a
fact in self-consciousness; for the question propounded
for the essay was with great insight directed to this
point Therefore, as I refer the reader to that work,
and also to the tenth paragraph of the prize-essay on
the basis of morals, which was published along with it
under the title "The Two Fundamental Problems of
Ethics," I now omit the incomplete exposition of the
necessity of the act of will, which was given at this place
in the first edition. Instead of it I shall explain the
delusion mentioned above in a brief discussion which is
presupposed in the nineteenth chapter of the supple-
ment to the present work, and therefore could not be
_,given in the prize-essay referred to.

Apart from the fact that the will as the true thing-in-
itself is actually original and independent, and that the
feeling of its originality and absoluteness must accompany
its acts in self-consciousness, though here they are already
determined, there arises the illusion of an empirical free-
dom of the will (instead of the transcendental freedom
which alone is to be attributed to it), and thus a freedom
6"f Its particular actions, from that attitude of the intellect
towards the will which is explained, separated, and sub-
ordinated in the nineteenth chapter of the supplement,
especially under No. 3. The intellect knows the con-
clusions of the will only a 'posteriori and empirically;
therefore when a choice is presented, it has no data as to
how the will is to decide. For the intelligible character,
by virtue of which, when motives are given, only oiu

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 375

decision is possible and is therefore necessary, does not
come within the knowledge of the intellect, but merely
the empirical character is known to it through the suc-
cession of its particular acts. Therefore it seems to the
intellect that in a given case two opposite decisions are
possible for the will But this is just the same thing
as if we were to say of a perpendicular beam that
has lost its balance, and is hesitating which way to
fall, " It can fall either to the right hand or the left."
This can has merely a subjective significance, and really
means "as far as the data known to us are concerned."
Objectively, the direction of the fall is necessarily deter-
mined as soon as the equilibrium is lost. Accordingly,
the decision of one's own will is undetermined only to
the beholder, one's own intellect, and thus merely rela-
tively and subjectively for the subject of knowing. In
itself and objectively, on the other hand, in every choice
presented to it, its decision is at once determined and
necessary. But this determination only comes into con-
sciousness through the decision that follows upon it.
Indeed, we receive an empirical proof of this when any
difficult and important choice lies before us, but only
under a condition which is not yet present, but merely
hoped for, so that in the meanwhile we can do nothing,
but must remain passive. Now we consider how we shall
decide when the circumstances occur that will give us
a free activity and choice. Generally the foresight of
rational deliberation recommends one decision, while direct
inclination leans rather to the other. So long as we are
compelled to remain passive, the side of reason seems to
wish to keep the upperhand ; but we see beforehand how
strongly the other side will influence us when the oppor-
tunity for action arises. Till then we are eagerly con-
cerned to place the motives on both sides in the clearest
light, by calm meditation on the pro et contra, so that
every motive may exert its full influence upon the will
when the time arrives, and it may not be misled by a

376 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

mistake on the part of the intellect to decide otherwise
than it would have done if all the motives had their due
influence upon it. But this distinct unfolding of the mo-
tives on both sides is all that the intellect can do to assist
the choice. It awaits the real decision just as passively and
with the same inteuse curiosity as if it were that of a
foreign will. Therefore from its point of view both deci-
sions must seem to it equally possible ; and this is just
the illusion of the empirical freedom of the will. Cer-
tainly the decision enters the sphere of the intellect alto-
gether empirically, as the final conclusion of the matter;
but yet it proceeded from the inner nature, the intelli-
gible character, of the individual will in its conflict with
given motives, and therefore with complete necessity.
The intellect can do nothing more than bring out clearly
and fully the nature of the motives ; it cannot determine
the will itself ; for the will is quite inaccessible to it, and,
as we have seen, cannot be investigated.

If, under the same circumstances, a man could act now
one way and now another, it would be necessary that
his will itself should have changed in the meantime, and
thus that it should lie in time, for change is only possible
in time; but then either the will would be a mere
phenomenon, or time would be a condition of the thing-
in-itself. Accordingly the dispute as to the freedom of
the particular action, the liberum arbitrium indifferentue,
really turns on the question whether the will lies in time
or not. If, as both Kant's doctrine and the whole of my
system necessitates, the will is the thing-in-itself outside
time and outside every form of the principle of sufficient
reason, not only must the individual act in the same way
in the same circumstances, and not only must eveiy bad
action be the sure warrant of innumerable others, which
the individual must perform and cannot leave, but, as Kant
said, if only the empirical character and the motives were
completely given, it would be possible to calculate the
future conduct of a man just as we can calculate an

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 377

eclipse of the sun or moon. As Nature is consistent, so
is the character ; every action must take place in accord-
ance with it, just as every phenomenon takes place ac-
cording to a law of Nature : the causes in the latter case
and the motives in the former are merely the occasional
causes, as was shown in the Second Book. The will,
whose phenomenon is the whole being and life of man,
cannot deny itself in the particular case, and what the
man wills on the whole, that will he also will in the
particular case.

The assertion of an empirical freedom of the will, a
liberum arbitrium indiffer entice, agrees precisely with the
doctrine that places the inner nature of man in a soul,
which is originally a knowing, and indeed really an
abstract thinking nature, and only in consequence of this
a willing nature — a doctrine which thus regards the
will as of a secondary or derivative nature, instead of
knowledge which is really so. The will indeed came to
be regarded as an act of thought, and to be identified
with the judgment, especially by Descartes and Spinoza.
According to this doctrine every man must become
what he is only through his knowledge ; he must enter
the world as a moral cipher come to know the things in
it, and thereupon determine to be this or that, to act
thus or thus, and may also through new knowledge
achieve a new course of action, that is to say, become
another person. Further, he must first know a thing
to be good, and in consequence of this will it, instead of
first willing it, and in consequence of this calling it good.
According to my fundamental point of view, all this is a
reversal of the true relation. Will is first and original ;
knowledge is merely added to it as an instrument be-
longing to the phenomenon of will. Therefore every
man is what he is through his will, and his character is
original, for willing is the basis of his nature. Through
the knowledge which is added to it he comes to know in
the course of experience what he is, i.e., he learns his

378 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

character. Thus he knows himself in consequence of and
in accordance with the nature of his will, instead of
willing in consequence of and in accordance with his
knowing. According to the latter view, he would only
require to consider how he would like best to be, and he
would be it ; that is its doctrine of the freedom of the
will. Thus it consists really in this, that a man is his
own work guided by the light of knowledge. I, on the
contrary, say that he is his own work before all know-
ledge, and knowledge is merely added to it to enlighten
it. Therefore he cannot resolve to be this or that, nor
can he become other than he is ; but he is once for all,
and he knows in the course of experience what he is.
According to one doctrine he wills what he knows, and
according to the other he knows what he wills.

The Greeks called the character rjdo?, and its expres-
sion, i.e., morals, tjOtj. But this word comes from edo?,
custom ; they chose it in order to express metaphorically
the constancy of character through the constancy of
custom. To yap n6os airo rov edov? €%€(, ttjv eirwvvfiiav.
rfditcr) yap KaXenai Bca to eOi^eaOai (a voce rjdos, i.e., con-
suetudo ndos est appellatum : ethica ergo dicta est airo rov
eOi&aOai, sivi ah assuescendo) says Aristotle (Eth. Magna,
i. 6, p. 1 186, and Eth. Eud., p. 1220, and Eth. Nic,, p.
1 103, ed. Ber.) Stobaeus quotes: ol Be Kara Zrjvcova
rpo-rntccor rjOo? eart, 77-17777 fiiov a<f> 779 al Kara fiepos
Trpageis peovai (Stoici autem, Zenonis castra sequentes, meta-
pJwrice ethos definiunt vitce fontem, e quo singvlm manant
actiones), ii. ch. 7. In Christian theology we find the
dogma of predestination in consequence of election and
non-election (Rom. ix. 1 1-24), clearly originating from
the knowledge that man does not change himself, but
his life and conduct, i.e.t his empirical character, is only
the unfolding of his intelligible character, the develop-
ment of decided and unchangeable natural dispositions
recognisable even in the child; therefore, as it were,
even at his birth his conduct is firmly determined, and

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 379

remains essentially the same to the end. This we
entirely agree with; but certainly the consequences
which followed from the union of this perfectly correct
insight with the dogmas that already existed in Jewish
theology, and which now gave rise to the great difficulty,
the Gordian knot upon which most of the controversies
of the Church turned, I do not undertake to defend, for
even the Apostle Paul scarcely succeeded in doing so
by means of his simile of the potter's vessels which he
invented for the purpose, for the result he finally arrived
at was nothing else than this : —

" Let mankind
Fear the gods !
They hold the power
In everlasting hands :
And they can nse it
As seems good to them."

Such considerations, however, are really foreign to our
subject. Some explanation as to the relation between
the character and the knowledge in which all its motives
lie, will now be more to the point.

The motives which determine the manifestation of
the character or conduct influence it through the medium
of knowledge. But knowledge is changeable, and often
vacillates between truth and error, yet, as a rule, is rectified
more and more in the course of life, though certainly in
very different degrees. Therefore the conduct of a man
may be observably altered without justifying us in con-
cluding that his character has been changed. What the
man really and in general wills, the striving of his inmost
nature, and the end he pursues in accordance with it,
this we can never change by influence upon him from
without by instruction, otherwise we could transform
him. Seneca says admirably, velle non discitur ; whereby
he preferred truth to his Stoic philosophers, who taught
h&aKTi)v eivai rrjv aperrjv (doceri posse virtutem). From
without the will can only be affected by motives. But

BK. IV

3&> THE WORLD AS WILL.

these can never change the will itself; for they have power
over it only under the presupposition that it is precisely
such as it is. All that they can do is thus to alter the
direction of its effort, i.e., bring it about that it shall seek
in another way than it has hitherto done that which it
invariably seeks. Therefore instruction, improved know-
ledge, in other words, influence from without, may indeed
teach the will that it erred in the means it employed,
and can therefore bring it about that the end after
which it strives once for all according to its inner nature
shall be pursued on an entirely different path and in
an entirely different object from what has hitherto
been the case. But it can never bring about that the
will shall will something actually different from what it
has hitherto willed ; this remains unchangeable, for the
will is simply this willing itself, which would have to
be abolished. The former, however, the possible modi-
fication of knowledge, and through knowledge of conduct,
extends so far that the will seeks to attain its unalter-
able end, for example, Mohammed's paradise, at one time
in the real world, at another time in a world of imagina-
tion, adapting the means to each, and thus in the°first
case applying prudence, might, and fraud, and in the
second case, abstinence, justice, alms, and pilgrimages to
Mecca But its effort itself has not therefore changed,
still less the will itself. Thus, although its action cer-
tainly shows itself very different at different times, its
willing has yet remained precisely the same. Telle non
discitur.

For motives to act, it is necessary not only that they
should be present, but that they should be known ; for,
according to a very good expression of the schoolmen,
which we referred to once before, causa Jmalis movet non
secundum suum esse reale; sed secundum esse cognitum.
For example, in order that the relation may appear
that exists in a given man between egoism and sym-
pathy, it is not sufficient that he should possess wealth

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 381

and see others in want, but he must also know what
he can do with his wealth, both for himself and for
others: not only must the suffering of others be pre-
sented to him, but he must know both what suffering
and also what pleasure is. Perhaps, on a first occasion,
he did not know all this so well as on a second ; and
if, on a similar occasion, he acts differently, this arises
simply from the fact that the circumstances were really
different, as regards the part of them that depends on
his knowing them, although they seem to be the same.
As ignorance of actually existing circumstances robs
them of their influence, so, on the other hand, entirely
imaginary circumstances may act as if they were real,
not only in the case of a particular deception, but also
in general and continuously. For example, if a man
is firmly persuaded that every good action will be
repaid him a hundredfold in a future life, such a con-
viction affects him in precisely the same way as a
good bill of exchange at a very long date, and he can
give from mere egoism, as from another point of view
he would take from egoism. He has not changed
himself: velle non discitur. It is on account of this
great influence of knowledge upon action, while the
will remains unchangeable, that the character develops
and its different features appear only little by little.
Therefore it shows itself different at every period of
life, and an impetuous, wild youth may be succeeded
by a staid, sober, manly age. Especially what is bad
in the character will always come out more strongly
with time, yet sometimes it occurs that passions which
a man gave way to in his youth are afterwards volun-
tarily restrained, simply because the motives opposed
to them have only then come into knowledge. Hence,
also, we are all innocent to begin with, and this merely
means that neither we nor others know the evil of our
own nature ; it only appears with the motives, and
only in time do the motives appear in knowledge.

382 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

Finally we come to know ourselves as quite different
from what a priori we supposed ourselves to be, and
then we are often terrified at ourselves.

Kepentance never proceeds from a change of the will
(which is impossible), but from a change of knowledge.
The essential and peculiar in what I have always willed
I must still continue to will ; for I myself am this will
which lies outside time and change. I can therefore
never repent of what I have willed, though I can re-
pent of what I have done; because, led by false con-
ceptions, I did something that was not in conformity
with my will. The discovery of this through fuller
knowledge is repentance. This extends not merely to
worldly wisdom, to the choice of the means, and the
judgment of the appropriateness of the end to my own
will, but also to what is properly ethical. For example,
I may have acted more egotistically than is in accordance
with my character, led astray by exaggerated ideas of
the need in which I myself stood, or of the craft, false-
ness, and wickedness of others, or because I hurried too
much, i.e.y acted without deliberation, determined not by
motives distinctly known in abstracto, but by merely per-
ceived motives, by the present and the emotion which it
excited, and which was so strong that I had not properly
the use of my reason ; but the return of reflection is thus
here also merely corrected knowledge, and from this re-
pentance may proceed, which always proclaims itself by
making amends for the past, as far as is possible. Yet
it must be observed that, in order to deceive themselves,
men prearrange what seem to be hasty errors, but are
really secretly considered actions. For we deceive and
flatter no one through such fine devices as ourselves. The
converse of the case we have given may also occur. I may
be misled by too good an opinion of others, or want of
knowledge of the relative value of the good things of
life, or some abstract dogma in which I have since lost
faith, and thus I may act less egotistically than is in

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 383

keeping with my character, and lay up for myself repent-
ance of another kind. Thus repentance is always cor-
rected knowledge of the relation of an act to its special
intention. When the will reveals its Ideas in space alone,
i.e., through mere form, the matter in which other Ideas —
in this case natural forces — already reign, resists the will,
and seldom allows the form that is striving after visi-
bility to appear in perfect purity and distinctness, ie., in
perfect beauty. And there is an analogous hindrance to
the will as it reveals itself in time alone, i.e., through
actions, in the knowledge which seldom gives it the data
quite correctly, so that the action which takes place does
not accurately correspond to the will, and leads to
repentance. Eepentance thus always proceeds from
corrected knowledge, not from the change of t4he will,
which is impossible. Anguish of conscience for past
deeds is anything but repentance. It is pain at the
knowledge of oneself in one's inmost nature, ie., as will
It rests precisely on the certainty that we have still the
same will. If the will were changed, and therefore the
anguish of conscience mere repentance, it would cease to
exist. The past could then no longer give us pain, for
it exhibited the expressions of a will which is no longer
that of him who has repented. We shall explain the
significance of anguish of conscience in detail farther on.

The influence which knowledge, as the medium of
motives, exerts, not indeed upon the will itself, but upon
its appearance in actions, is also the source of the prin-
cipal distinction between the action of men and that of
brutes, for their methods of knowledge are different.
The brute has only knowledge of perception, the man,
through reason, has also abstract ideas, conceptions.
Now, although man and brute are with equal necessity
determined by their motives, yet man, as distinguished
from the brute, has a complete choice, which has often
been regarded as a freedom of the will in particular
actions, although it is nothing but the possibility of a

3^4 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

thoroughly - fought - out battle between several motives,
the strongest of which then determines it with necessity.
For this the motives must have assumed the form of
abstract thoughts, because it is really only by means of
these that deliberation, i.e.t a weighing of opposite
reasons for action, is possible. In the case of the brute
there can only be a choice between perceptible motives
presented to it, so that the choice is limited to the narrow
sphere of its present sensuous perception. Therefore the
necessity of the determination of the will by the motive,
which is like that of the effect by the cause, can be
exhibited perceptibly and directly only in the case of the
brutes, because here the spectator has the motives just
as directly before his eyes as their effect ; while in the
case of man the motives are almost always abstract ideas,
which are not communicated to the spectator, and even
for the actor himself the necessity of their effect is hidden
behind their conflict. For only in ahstracto can several
ideas, as judgments and chains of conclusions, lie beside
each other in consciousness, and then, free from all deter-
mination of time, work against each other till the stronger
overcomes the rest and determines the will. This is the
complete choice or power of deliberation which man has
as distinguished from the brutes, and on account of
which freedom of the will has been attributed to him, in
the belief that his willing is a mere result of the opera-
tions of his intellect, without a definite tendency which
serves as its basis ; while, in truth, the motives only work
on the foundation and under the presupposition of his
definite tendency, which in his case is individual, i.e., a
character. A fuller exposition of this power of delibera-
tion, and the difference between human and brute choice
which is introduced by it, will be found in the " Two
Fundamental Problems of Ethics" (ist edition, p. 35,
et seq. ; 2d edition, p. 34, et seq.), to which 1 therefore
refer. For the rest, this power of deliberation which
man possesses is one of those things that makes his

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 385

existence so much more miserable than that of the brute.
For in general our greatest sufferings do not lie in the
present as ideas of perception or as immediate feelings ;
but in the reason, as abstract conceptions, painful
thoughts, from which the brute, which lives only in the
present, and therefore in enviable carelessness, is entirely
free.

It seems to have been the dependence, which we have
shown, of the human power of deliberation upon the
faculty of abstract thinking, and thus also of judging and
drawing conclusions also, that led both Descartes and
Spinoza to identify the decisions of the will with the
faculty of asserting and denying (the faculty of judgment).
From this Descartes deduced the doctrine that the will,
which, according to him, is indifferently free, is the source
of sin, and also of all theoretical error. And Spinoza, on
the other hand, concluded that the will is necessarily
determined by the motives, as the judgment is by the
reasons.1 The latter doctrine is in a sense true, but it
appears as a true conclusion from false premises.

The distinction we have established between the ways
in which the brutes and man are respectively moved by
motives exerts a very wide influence upon the nature of
both, and has most to do with the complete and obvious
differences of their existence. While an idea of percep-
tion is in every case the motive which determines the
brute, the man strives to exclude this kind of motivation
altogether, and to determine himself entirely by abstract
ideas. Thus he uses his prerogative of reason to the
greatest possible advantage. Independent of the present,
he neither chooses nor avoids the passing pleasure or pain,
but reflects on the consequences of both. In most cases,
setting aside quite insignificant actions, we are deter-
mined by abstract, thought motives, not present impres-
sions. Therefore all particular privation for the moment
is for us comparatively light, but all renunciation is ter-

1 Cart. Medit. 4. — Spin. Eth., pt. il prop. 48 et 49, cat.
VOL. L 2 B

386 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

ribly hard; for the former only concerns the fleeting
present, but the latter concerns the future, and includes
in itself innumerable privations, of which it is the equi-
valent The causes of our pain, as of our pleasure, lie
for the most part, not in the real present, but merely in
abstract thoughts. It is these which are often unbearable
to us — inflict torments in comparison with which all the
sufferings of the animal world are very small ; for even
our own physical pain is not felt at all when they are
present. Indeed, in the case of keen mental suffering,
we even inflict physical suffering on ourselves merely to
distract our attention from the former to the latter. This
is why, in great mental anguish, men tear their hair, beat
their breasts, lacerate their faces, or roll on the floor, for
all these are in reality only violent means of diverting
the mind from an unbearable thought Just because
mental pain, being much greater, makes us insensible
to physical pain, suicide is very easy to the person who
is in despair, or who is consumed by morbid depression,
even though formerly, in comfortable circumstances, he
recoiled at the thought of it In the same way care and
passion (thus the play of thought) wear out the body
oftener and more than physical hardships. And in
accordance with this Epictetus rightly says : Tapaaaei
tou9 avdpcoirovs ov to, irpay^iara, aXka ra irepi todp
TrpayfiaTcov Soyfiara (Perturbant homines non res ipsa,
sed de rebus decreta) (V.) ; and Seneca : Plura sunt qua
nos terrent, quam quce premunt, et scepius opinione quam re
labor amus (Ep. 5). Eulenspiegel also admirably bantered
human nature, for going uphill he laughed, and going
downhill he wept Indeed, children who have hurt
themselves often cry, not at the pain, but at the thought
of the pain which is awakened when some one condoles
with them. Such great differences in conduct and in life
arise from the diversity between the methods of know-
ledge of the brutes and man. Further, the appearance
of the distinct and decided individual character, the

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 387

principal distinction between man and the brute, which
has scarcely more than the character of the species, is
conditioned by the choice between several motives, which
is only possible through abstract conceptions. For only
after a choice has been made are the resolutions, which
vary in different individuals, an indication of the indi-
vidual character which is different in each; while the
action of the brute depends only upon the presence or
absence of the impression, supposing this impression to
be in general a motive for its species. And, finally, in
the case of man, only the resolve, and not the mere wish,
is a valid indication of his character both for himself
and for others ; but the resolve becomes for himself, as
for others, a certain fact only through the deed. The
wish is merely the necessary consequence of the present
impression, whether of the outward stimulus, or the
inward passing mood; and is therefore as immediately
necessary and devoid of consideration as the action of
the brutes. Therefore, like the action of the brutes, it
merely expresses the character of the species, not that
of the individual, i.e., it indicates merely what man in
general, not what the individual who experiences the
wish, is capable of doing. The deed alone, — because as
human action it always requires a certain deliberation,
and because as a rule a man has command of his reason,
is considerate, i.e., decides in accordance with considered
and abstract motives, — is the expression of the intel-
ligible maxims of his conduct, the result of his inmost
willing, and is related as a letter to the word that stands
for his empirical character, itself merely the temporal
expression of his intelligible character. In a healthy
mind, therefore, only deeds oppress the conscience, not
wishes and thoughts ; for it is only our deeds that hold
up to us the mirror of our will. The deed referred to
above, that is entirely unconsidered and is really commit-
ted in blind passion, is to a certain extent an interme-
diate thing between the mere wish and the resolve.

388 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

Therefore, by true repentance, which, however, shows
itself as action also, it can be obliterated, as a falsely
drawn line, from that picture of our will which our
course of life is. I may insert the remark here, as a
very good comparison, that the relation between wish and
deed has a purely accidental but accurate analogy with that
between the accumulation and discharge of electricity.

As the result of the whole of this discussion of the
freedom of the will and what relates to it, we find
that although the will may, in itself and apart from the
phenomenon, be called free and even omnipotent, yet in
its particular phenomena enlightened by knowledge, as in
men and brute3, it is determined by motives to which
the special character regularly and necessarily responds,
and always in the same way. We see that because of the
possession on his part of abstract or rational knowledge,
man, as distinguished from the brutes, has a choice, which
only makes him the scene of the conflict of his motives,
without withdrawing him from their control. This choice
is therefore certainly the condition of the possibility of the
complete expression of the individual character, but is by
no means to be regarded as freedom of the particular voli-
tion, i.e., independence of the law of causality, the neces-
sity of which extends to man as to every other pheno-
menon. Thus the difference between human volition
and that of the brutes, which is introduced by reason or
knowledge through concepts, extends to the point we
have indicated, and no farther. But, what is quite a
different thing, there may arise a phenomenon of the
human will which is quite impossible in the brute
creation, if man altogether lays aside the knowledge of
particular things as such which is subordinate to the
principle of sufficient reason, and by means of his know-
ledge of the Ideas sees through the principium indivi-
duationi8. Then an actual appearance of the real free-
dom of the will as a thing-in-itself is possible, by which
the phenomenon comes into a sort of contradiction with

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 389

itself, as is indicated by the word self-renunciation ; and,
finally, the "in-itself" of its nature suppresses itself.
But this, the one, real, and direct expression of the
freedom of the will in itself in the phenomenon, cannot
be distinctly explained here, but will form the subject
of the concluding part of our work.

Now that we have shown clearly in these pages the
unalterable nature of the empirical character, which is
just the unfolding of the intelligible character that lies
outside time, together with the necessity with which
actions follow upon its contact with motives, we hasten
to anticipate an argument which may very easily be
drawn from this in the interest of bad dispositions.
Our character is to be regarded as the temporal un-
folding of an extra- temporal, and therefore indivisible
and unalterable, act of will, or an intelligible character.
This necessarily determines all that is essential in our
conduct in life, i.e., its ethical content, which must
express itself in accordance with it in its phenomenal
appearance, the empirical character ; while only what
is unessential in this, the outward form of our course
of life, depends upon the forms in which the motives
present themselves. It might, therefore, be inferred
that it is a waste of trouble to endeavour to improve
one's character, and that it is wiser to submit to the
inevitable, and gratify every inclination at once, even
if it is bad. But this is precisely the same thing as
the theory of an inevitable fate which is called apyos
\oyos, and in more recent times Turkish faith. Its
true refutation, as it is supposed to have been given by
Chrysippus, is explained by Cicero in his book De Fato,
ch. 12, 13,

Though everything may be regarded as irrevocably
predetermined by fate, yet it is so only through the
medium of the chain of causes; therefore in no case
can it be determined that an effect shall appear without
its cause. Thus it is not simply the event that is

39© THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

predetermined, but the event as the consequence of
preceding causes ; so that fate does not decide the con-
sequence alone, but also the means as the consequence
of which it is destined to appear. Accordingly, if some
means is not present, it is certain that the consequence
also will not be present : each is always present in ac-
cordance with the determination of fate, but this is never
known to us till afterwards.

As events always take place according to fate, i.e., accord-
ing to the infinite concatenation of causes, so our actions
always take place according to our intelligible character.
But just as we do not know the former beforehand, so no
a priori insight is given us into the latter, but we only
come to know ourselves as we come to know other per-
sons a posteriori through experience. If the intelligible
character involved that we could only form a good resolu-
tion after a long conflict with a bad disposition, this con-
flict would have to come first and be waited for. Reflec-
tion on the unalterable nature of the character, on the
unity of the source from which all our actions flow, must
not mislead us into claiming the decision of the character
in favour of one side or the other ; it is in the resolve
that follows that we shall see what manner of men we
are, and mirror ourselves in our actions. This is the
explanation of the satisfaction or the anguish of soul
with which we look back on the course of our past life.
Both are experienced, not because these past deeds have
still an existence; they are past, they have been, and
now are no more; but their great importance for us lies
in their significance, lies in the fact that these deeds are
the expression of the character, the mirror of the will, in
which we look and recognise our inmost self, the kernel
of our will. Because we experience this not before, but
only after, it behoves us to strive and fight in time, in
order that the picture we produce by our deeds may be
such that the contemplation of it may calm us as much
as possible, instead of harassing us. The significance of

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 391

this consolation or anguish of soul will, as we have said,
be inquired into farther on ; but to this place there be-
longs the inquiry which follows, and which stands by
itself.

Besides the intelligible and the empirical character, we
must mention a third which is different from them both,
the acquired character, which one only receives in life
through contact with the world, and which is referred to
when one is praised as a man of character or censured as
being without character. Certainly one might suppose
that, since the empirical character, as the phenomenon of
the intelligible, is unalterable, and, like every natural
phenomenon, is consistent with itself, man would always
have to appear like himself and consistent, and would
therefore have no need to acquire a character artificially
by experience and reflection. But the case is otherwise,
and although a man is always the same, yet he does not
always understand himself, but often mistakes himself, till
he has in some degree acquired real self-knowledge. The
empirical character, as a mere natural tendency, is in itself
irrational; nay,more,its expressions are disturbed by reason,
all the more so the more intellect and power of thought
the man has; for these always keep before him what
becomes man in general as the character of the species,
and what is possible for him both in will and in deed.
This makes it the more difficult for him to see how much
his individuality enables him to will and to accomplish.
He finds in himself the germs of all the various human
pursuits and powers, but the difference of degree in which
they exist in his individuality is not clear to him in the
absence of experience ; and if he now applies himself to
the pursuits which alone correspond to his character, he
yet feels, especially at particular moments and in parti-
cular moods, the inclination to directly opposite pursuits
which cannot be combined with them, but must be en-
tirely suppressed if he desires to follow the former undis-
turbed. For as our physical path upon earth is always

392 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

merely a line, not an extended surface, so in life, if we
desire to grasp and possess one thing, we must renounce
and leave innumerable others on the right hand and on
the left. If we cannot make up our minds to this, but,
like children at the fair, snatch at everything that attracts
us in passing, we are making the perverse endeavour to
change the line of our path into an extended surface ; we
run in a zigzag, skip about like a will o* the wisp, and
attain to nothing. Or, to use another comparison, as,
according to Hobbes' philosophy of law, every one has an
original right to everything but an exclusive right to
nothing, yet can obtain an exclusive right to particular
things by renouncing his right to all the rest, while
others, on their part, do likewise with regard to what he
has chosen ; so is it in life, in which some definite pur-
suit, whether it be pleasure, honour, wealth, science, art,
or virtue, can only be followed with seriousness and
success when all claims that are foreign to it are given
up, when everything else is renounced. Accordingly, the
mere will and the mere ability are not sufficient, but a
man must also know what he wills, and know what he
can do ; only then will he show character, and only then
can he accomplish something right Until he attains to
that, notwithstanding the natural consistency of the empi-
rical character, he is without character. And although,
on the whole, he must remain true to himself, and fulfil
his course, led by his daemon, yet his path will not be a
straight line, but wavering and uneven. He will hesitate,
deviate, turn back, lay up for himself repentance and
pain. And all this is because, in great and small, he sees
before him all that is possible and attainable for man in
general, but does not know what part of all this is alone
suitable for him, can be accomplished by him, and is
alone enjoyable by him. He will, therefore, envy many
men on account of a position and circumstances which
are yet only suitable to their characters and not to his,
and in which he would feel unhappy, if indeed he found

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 393

them endurable at all. For as a fish is only at home in
water, a bird in the air, a mole in the earth, so every
man is only at home in the atmosphere suitable to him.
For example, not all men can breathe the air of court
life. From deficiency of proper insight into all this,
many a man will make all kinds of abortive attempts,
will do violence to his character in particulars, and yet,
on the whole, will have to yield to it again ; and what
he thus painfully attains will give him no pleasure ; what
he thus learns will remain dead ; even in an ethical re-
gard, a deed that is too noble for his character, that has
not sprung from pure, direct impulse, but from a concept,
a dogma, will lose all merit, even in his own eyes, through
subsequent egoistical repentance. Telle non discitur.
We only become conscious of the inflexibility of another
person's character through experience, and till then we
childishly believe that it is possible, by means of rational
ideas, by prayers and entreaties, by example and noble-
mindedness, ever to persuade any one to leave his own
way, to change his course of conduct, to depart from his
mode of thinking, or even to extend his capacities : so is
it also with ourselves. We must first learn from expe-
rience what we desire and what we can do. Till then
we know it not, we are without character, and must often
be driven back to our own way by hard blows from with-
out But if we have finally learnt it, then we have
attained to what in the world is called character, the
acquired character. This is accordingly nothing but the
most perfect knowledge possible of our own individu-
ality. It is the abstract, and consequently distinct,
knowledge of the unalterable qualities of our own em-
pirical character, and of the measure and direction of
our mental and physical powers, and thus of the whole
strength and weakness of our own individuality. This
places us in a position to carry out deliberately and
methodically the role which belongs to our own person,
and to fill up the gaps which caprices or weaknesses

394 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

produce in it, under the guidance of fixed conceptions.
This role is in itself unchangeably determined once for
all, but hitherto we have allowed it to follow its natural
course without any rule. We have now brought to
distinct conscious maxims which are always present to
us the form of conduct which is necessarily determined
by our own individual nature, and now we conduct it
in accordance with them as deliberately as if we had
learned it; without ever falling into error through the
passing influence of the mood or the impression of the
present, without being checked by the bitterness or
sweetness of some particular thing we meet with on our
path, without delay, without hesitation, without incon-
sistency. We shall now no longer, as novices, wait,
attempt, and grope about in order to see what we really
desire and are able to do, but we know this once for all,
and in every choice we have only to apply general prin-
ciples to particular cases, and arrive at once at a deci-
sion. We know our will in general, and do not allow
ourselves to be led by the passing mood or by solici-
tations from without to resolve in particular cases what
is contrary to it as a whole. We know in the same
way the nature and the measure of our strength and our
weakness, and thereby are spared much suffering. For
we experience no real pleasure except in the use and
feeling of our own powers, and the greatest pain is the
conscious deficiency of our powers where we need
them. If, now, we have discovered where our strength
and our weakness lie, we will endeavour to cultivate,
employ, and in every way make use of those talents
which are naturally prominent in us. We will always
turn to those occupations in which they are valuable and
to the purpose, and entirely avoid, even with self-
renunciation, those pursuits for which we have naturally
little aptitude; we will beware of attempting that in
which we have no chance of succeeding. Only he
who has attained to this will constantly and with

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 395

full consciousness be completely himself, and will
never fail himself at the critical moment, because he
will always have known what he could expect from
himself. He will often enjoy the satisfaction of feeling
his strength, and seldom experience the pain of being
reminded of his weakness. The latter is mortification,
which causes perhaps the greatest of mental sufferings ;
therefore it is far more endurable to have our misfortune
brought clearly before us than our incapacity. And,
further, if we are thus fully acquainted with our strength
and our weakness, we will not attempt to make a show
of powers which we do not possess ; we will not play
with base coin, for all such dissimulation misses the
mark in the end. For since the whole man is only the
phenomenon of his will, nothing can be more perverse
than to try, by means of reflection, to become something
else than one is, for this is a direct contradiction of
the will with itself. The imitation of the qualities
and idiosyncrasies of others is much more shameful than
to dress in other people's clothes ; for it is the judg-
ment of our own worthlessness pronounced by ourselves.
Knowledge of our own mind and its capacities of every
kind, and their unalterable limits, is in this respect the
surest way to the attainment of the greatest possible
contentment with ourselves. Tor it holds good of in-
ward as of outward circumstances that there is for us no
consolation so effective as the complete certainty of un-
alterable necessity. No evil that befalls us pains us so
much as the thought of the circumstances by which it
might have been warded off. Therefore nothing com-
forts us so effectually as the consideration of what has
happened from the standpoint of necessity, from which
all accidents appear as tools in the hand of an over-
ruling fate, and we therefore recognise the evil that has
come to us as inevitably produced by the conflict of
inner and outer circumstances ; in other words, fatalism.
We really only complain and storm so long as we hope

39^ THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

either to affect others or to excite ourselves to unheard-
of efforts. But children and grown-up people know very
well to yield contentedly as soon as they clearly see
that it absolutely cannot be otherwise : — Sv^wv kvl
aT7]0€<r<Tt, <f>t\ov hafjidcravT€<i dvdy/cT) (Animo in pectoribus
nostra domito necessitate). We are like the entrapped
elephants, that rage and struggle for many days, till they
see that it is useless, and then suddenly offer their necks
quietly to the yoke, tamed for ever. We are like King
David, who, as long as his son still lived, unceasingly
importuned Jehovah with prayers, and behaved himself
as if in despair ; but as soon as his son was dead, thought
no longer about it. Hence it arises that innumerable
permanent ills, such as lameness, poverty, low estate,
ugliness, a disagreeable dwelling-place, are borne with
indifference by innumerable persons, and are no longer
felt, like healed wounds, just because these persons know
that inward or outward necessity renders it impossible
that any change can take place in these things ; while
those who are more fortunate cannot understand how
such misfortunes can be borne. Now as with outward
necessity, so also with inward; nothing reconciles so
thoroughly as a distinct knowledge of it. If we have
once for all distinctly recognised not only our good
qualities and our strength, but also our defects and
weakness, established our aim accordingly, and rest satis-
fied concerning what cannot be attained, we thus escape
in the surest way, as far as our individuality permits, the
bitterest of all sorrows, discontentment with ourselves,
which is the inevitable result of ignorance of our own
individuality, of false conceit and the audacity that pro-
ceeds from it. To the bitter chapter of the self-know-
ledge here recommended the lines of Ovid admit of
excellent application —

u Optimus ille animi vindex Iccdcntia pectus,
Vinculo, qui rupit, dedoluiique semd?

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 397

So much with regard to the acquired character, which,
indeed, is not of so much importance for ethics proper
as for life in the world. But its investigation was
related as that of a third species to the investigation of
the intelligible and the empirical character, in regard to
which we were obliged to enter upon a somewhat detailed
inquiry in order to bring out clearly how in all its
phenomena the will is subject to necessity, while yet in
itself it may be called free and even omnipotent,

§ 56. This freedom, this omnipotence, as the expres-
sion of which the whole visible world exists and pro-
gressively develops in accordance with the laws which
belong to the form of knowledge, can now, at the point
at which in its most perfect manifestation it has attained
to the completely adequate knowledge of its own nature,
express itself anew in two ways. Either it wills here, at
the summit of mental endowment and self-consciousness,
simply what it willed before blindly and unconsciously,
and if so, knowledge always remains its motive in the
whole as in the particular case. Or, conversely, this know-
ledge becomes for it a quieter, which appeases and sup-
presses all willing. This is that assertion and denial of
the will to live which was stated above in general terms.
As, in the reference of individual conduct, a general, not
a particular manifestation of will, it does not disturb and
modify the development of the character, nor does it
find its expression in particular actions ; but, either by
an ever more marked appearance of the whole method of
action it has followed hitherto, or conversely by the
entire suppression of it, it expresses in a living form the
maxims which the will has freely adopted in accordance
with the knowledge it has now attained to. By the
explanations we have just given of freedom, necessity, and
character, we have somewhat facilitated and prepared the
way for the clearer development of all this, which is the
principal subject of this last book. But we shall have
done so still more when we have turned our attention to

398 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

life itself, the willing or not willing of which is the great
question, and have endeavoured to find out generally
what the will itself, which is everywhere the inmost
nature of this life, will really attain by its assertion — in
what way and to what extent this assertion satisfies or can
satisfy the will ; in short, what is generally and mainly to
be regarded as its position in this its own world, which
in every relation belongs to it.

First of all, I wish the reader to recall the passage
with which we closed the Second Book, — a passage occa-
sioned by the question, which met us then, as to the end
and aim of the will Instead of the answer to this ques-
tion, it appeared clearly before us how, in all the grades
of its manifestation, from the lowest to the highest, the
will dispenses altogether with a final goal and aim. It
always strives, for striving is its sole nature, which no
attained goal can put an end to. Therefore it is not sus-
ceptible of any final satisfaction, but can only be restrained
by hindrances, while in itself it goes on for ever. We
see this in the simplest of all natural phenomena, gravity,
which does not cease to strive and press towards a
mathematical centre to reach which would be the anni-
hilation both of itself and matter, and would not cease
even if the whole universe were already rolled into one
ball We see it in the other simple natural phenomena.
A solid tends towards fluidity either by melting or dis-
solving, for only so will its chemical forces be free;
rigidity is the imprisonment in which it is held by cold.
The fluid tends towards the gaseous state, into which it
passes at once as soon as all pressure is removed from it.
No body is without relationship, i.e., without tendency or
without desire and longing, as Jacob Bohme would say.
Electricity transmits its inner self-repulsion to infinity,
though the mass of the earth absorbs the effect. Gal-
vanism is certainly, so long as the pile is working, an
aimless, unceasingly repeated act of repulsion and attrac-
tion. The existence of the plant is just such a restless,

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 3Q9

never satisfied striving, a ceaseless tendency through ever-
ascending forms, till the end, the seed, becomes a new
starting-point ; and this repeated ad infinitum — nowhere
an end, nowhere a final satisfaction, nowhere a resting:
place. It will also be remembered, from the Second Book,
that the multitude of natural forces and organised forms
everywhere strive with each other for the matter in which
they desire to appear, for each of them only possesses what
it has wrested from the others; and thus a constant inter-
necine war is waged, from which, for the most part, arises
the resistance through which that striving, which con-
stitutes the inner nature of everything, is at all points
hindered ; struggles in vain, yet, from its nature, cannot
leave off; toils on laboriously till this phenomenon dies,
when others eagerly seize its place and its matter.

We have long since recognised this striving, which
constitutes the kernel and in-itself of everything, as iden- . /
tical with that which in us, where it manifests itself
most distinctly in the light of the fullest consciousness,
is called will. Its hindrance through an obstacle which
places itself between it and its temporary aim we call
suffering, and, on the other hand, its attainment of the
end satisfaction, wellbeing, happiness. We may also trans-
fer this terminology to the phenomena of the unconscious
world, for though weaker in degree, they are identical
in nature. Then we see them involved in constant suffer-
ing, and without any continuing happiness. For all effort
springs from defect — from discontent with one's estate
— is thus suffering so long as it is not satisfied ; but no
satisfaction is lasting, rather it is always merely the
starting-point of a new effort. The striving we see •
everywhere hindered in many ways, everywhere in con-
flict, and therefore always under the form of suffering.
Thus, if there is no final end of striving, there is no
measure and end of suffering.

But what we only discover in unconscious Nature by
sharpened observation, and with an effort, presents itself

i<*> THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

distinctly to us in the intelligent world in the life of
animals, whose constant suffering is easily proved. But
without lingering over these intermediate grades, we shall
turn to the life of man, in which all this appears with
the greatest distinctness, illuminated by the clearest
knowledge ; for as the phenomenon of will becomes more
complete, the suffering also becomes more and more appa-
rent. In the plant there is as yet no sensibility, and
therefore no pain. A certain very small degree of suffer-
ing is experienced by the lowest species of animal life —
infusoria and radiata; even in insects the capacity to feel and
suffer is still limited. It first appears in a high degree
with the complete nervous system of vertebrate animals,
and always in a higher degree the more intelligence
develops. Thus, in proportion as knowledge attains to
distinctness, as consciousness ascends, pain also increases,
and therefore reaches its highest degree in man. And
then, again, the more distinctly a man knows, the more
intelligent he is, the more pain he has ; the man who is
gifted with genius suffers most of alL In this sense, that
is, with reference to the degree of knowledge in general,
not mere abstract rational knowledge, I understand and
use here that saying of the Preacher : Qui auget svientiam,
auget et dolorem. That philosophical painter or painting
philosopher, Tischbein, has very beautifully expressed the
accurate relation between the degree of consciousness and
that of suffering by exhibiting it in a visible and clear
form in a drawing. The upper half of his drawing repre-
sents women whose children have been stolen, and who
in different groups and attitudes, express in many ways
deep maternal pain, anguish, and despair. The lower half
of the drawing represents sheep whose lambs have been
taken away. They are arranged and grouped in precisely
the same way ; so that every human head, every human
attitude of the upper half, has below a brute head and
attitude corresponding to it. Thus we see distinctly how
the pain which is possible in the dull brute consciousness

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 401

is related to the violent grief, which only becomes possible
through distinctness of knowledge and clearness of con-
sciousness.

We desire to consider in this way, in human existence,
the inner and essential destiny of will. Every one will
easily recognise that same destiny expressed in various
degrees in the life of the brutes, only more weakly, and
may also convince himself to his own satisfaction, from
the suffering animal world, how essential to all life is
suffering.

§ 57. At every grade that is enlightened by know-
ledge, the will appears as an individual The human
individual finds himself as finite in infinite space and
time, and consequently as a vanishing quantity compared
with them. He is projected into them, and, on account
of their unlimited nature, he has always a merely rela-
tive, never absolute when and where of his existence;
for his place and duration are finite parts of what is
infinite and boundless. His real existence is onlv in

•San r- 1. ,, ,„ 1, ...... t/_...j,.„„mT

the present, whose imcheokodr-^h^intaJ^he_ past is a
con^Unj^transition into death, a constant dying. For
his past life, apart from its possible consequences for
the present, and the testimony regarding the will that
is expressed in it, is now entirely done with, dead, and
no longer anything ; and, therefore, it must be, as a
matter of reason, indifferent to him whether the content
of that past was pain or pleasure. But the present is
always passing through his hands into the past ; the
future is quite uncertain and always short. Thus his
existence, even when we consider only its formal side, ]
is a constant hurrying of the present into the dead past,V
a constant dying. But if we look at it from the *
physical side ; it is clear that, as our walking is
admittedly merely a constantly prevented falling, the
life of our body is only a constantly prevented dying,
an ever-postponed death : finally, in the same way, the
activity ot our mind is__a_constantly deferred ennuj.
vol. 1. 2 0

S

402 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

Every breath we draw wards off the death that is con-
stantly intruding upon us. In this way we fight wi£h
it every moment, and again, at longer intervals, through
every meal we eat, every sleep we take, every time we
warm ourselves, &c. In the end, death must con-
quer, for we became subject to him through birth,
land he only plays for a little while with his prey before
|he swallows it up. We pursue our life, however, with
great interest and much solicitude as long as possible,
as we blow out a soap-bubble as long and as large as
possible, although we know perfectly well that it will
burst.

We saw that the ipnp.r freing of unconscious nature

ja-iL-CQnstant- friaiiriiig..jcithftflt P.nd and without rpcf„

And this appears to us much more distinctly when we
consider the nature of brutes and man. .Willing and^.
striving is its whole being, which may be very well
compared to an unquenchable thirst. But the basis of
all willing is need, deficiency, apfl thus pain Conse-
quently, the nature of brutes and man is subject to pain
originally and through its very being. If, on the other
hand, it lacks objects of desire, because it is at once
deprived of them by a too easy satisfaction, a terrible
i void and ennui comes over it, i.e„ its being and exist-
ence itself becomes an unbearable burden to it Thus
its life swings like a pendulum backwards and forwards
between pain and ennui. This has also had to express

(l itself very oddly in this way ; after man had transferred
! all pain and torments to hell, there then remained no-
\ thing over for heaven but ennui.

But the constant striving which constitutes the inner
nature of every manifestation of will obtains its primary
and most general foundation at the higher grades of
objectification, from the fact that here the wiH manifesto
jtaplf na 11 living hnrty with the iron command to nourish
it; and what gives strength to this command is just
that thisjbody is nothing but the objectified will to live

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 403

itself. Man, as the most complete objectification of that
will, is in like measure also the most necessitous of all
beings : he is through and through concrete willing and
needing; he is a concretion of a thousand necessities.
With these he stands upon the earth, left to himself,
uncertain about everything except his own need and
misery. Consequently the care for the maintenance of
that existence under exacting demands, which are renewed
every day, occupies, as a rule, the whole of human life.
To this is directly related the second claim, that of the
propagation of the species. At the same time he is
threatened from all sides by the most different kinds of
dangers, from which it requires constant watchfulness to
escape. With cautious steps and casting anxious glances
round him he pursues his path, for a thousand accidents
and a thousand enemies lie in wait for him. Thus he
went while yet a savage, thus he goes in civilised life ;
there is no security for him.

" Qualibus in tenebris vita, guantisque periclis
Degitur hoed cevi> quodcunque est I " — Lucr. ii. 15.

The life of the great majority is only a constant struggle
for this existence itself, with the_certainty of losing it
at last. But what enables them to endure this weari-
some battle is not so much the love of life as the feai V
of death, which yet stands in the background as inevit-
able, and may come upon them at any moment. Life
itself is a sea, full of rocks and whirlpools, which man
avoids with the greatest care and solicitude, although he
knows that even if he succeeds in getting through with
all his efforts and skill, he yet by doing so comes nearer
at every step to the greatest, the total, inevitable, and
irremediable shipwreck, death; nay, even steers right
upon it : this is the final goal of the laborious voyage,
and worse for him than all the rocks from which he has
escaped.

Kow it is well worth observing that, on the one hand,

404 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

the suffering and misery of life may easily increase to
such an extent that death itself, in the flight from which
the whole of life consists, becomes desirable, and we hasten
towards it voluntarily ; and again, on the other hand, that

fas soon as want and suffering permit rest to a man, ennui
is at once so near that he necessarily requires diversion.
The striving after existence is what occupies all living
things and maintains them in motion. But when exist-
ence is assured, then they know not what to do with it;
thus the second thing that sets them in motion is the
effort to get free from the burden of existence, to make
it cease to be felt, "to kill time," i.e., to escape from
\ ennui. Accordingly we see that almost all men who are
\ secure from want and care, now that at last they have
) thrown off all other burdens, become a burden to them-
selves, and regard as a gain every hour they succeed in
getting through, and thus every diminution of the very
life which, till then, they have employed all their powers to
maintain as long as possible. Ennujis by no means an evil
to be lightly esteemed ; in the end it depicts on the counte-
nance real despair It makes beings who love each other
so little as men do, seek each other eagerly, and thus be-
comes the source of social intercourse. Moreover, even
from motives of policy, public precautions are everywhere
taken against it, as against other universal calamities. For
this evil may drive men to the greatest excesses, just as
much as its opposite extreme, famine : the people require
panem et circenses. The strict penitentiary system of
Philadelphia makes use of ennui alone as a means of pun-
ishment, through solitary confinement and idleness, and
it is found so terrible that it has even led prisoners to
commit suicide. As want is the constant scourge of the
people, so ennui is that of the fashionable world. In
middle-class life ennui is represented by the Sunday, and
want by the six week-days.

Thus between desiring and attaining all human life
flows on throughout The wish is, in its nature, pain;

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 405

the attainment soon begets satiety: the end was only
apparent; possession takes away the charm; the wish,
the need, presents itself under a new form ; when it does
not, then follows desolateness, emptiness, ennui, against
which the conflict is just as painful as against want.
?That wish and satisfaction should follow each other
neither too quickly nor too slowly reduces the suffering,
which both occasion to the smallest amount, and consti-
tutes the happiest life. For that which we might other-
wise call the most beautiful part of life, its purest joy, if
it were only because it lifts us out of real existence and
transforms us into disinterested spectators of it — that
is, pure knowledge, which is foreign to all willing, the
pleasure of the beautiful, the true delight in art— this
is granted only to a very few, because it demands rare
talents, and to these few only as a passing dream. And
then, even these few, on account of their higher intellec-
tual power, are made susceptible of far greater suffering
than duller minds can ever feel, and are also placed in
lonely isolation by a nature which is obviously different
from that of others ; thus here also accounts are squared.
But to the great majority of men purely intellectual
pleasures are not accessible. They are almost quite in-
capable of the joys which lie in pure knowledge. They
are entirely given up to willing. If, therefore^ anything
is to win their sympathy, to be interesting to them, it
must (as is implied in the meaning of the word) in some
way excite their will, even if it is only through a distant
and merely problematical relation to it ; the will must not
be left altogether out of the question, for their existence
lies far more in willing than in knowing, — action and
reaction is their one element. We may find in trifles
and everyday occurrences the naive expressions of this
quality. Thus, for example, at any place worth seeing
they may visit, they write their names, in order thus to
react, to affect the place since it does not affect them.
Again, when they see a strange rare animal, they cannot

J

406 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

easily confine themselves to merely observing it; they
must rouse it, tease it, play with it, merely to experi-
ence action and reaction ; but this need for excitement
of the will manifests itself very specially in the dis-
covery and support of card- playing, which is quite pecu-
liarly the expression of the miserable side of humanity.

But whatever nature and fortune may have done,
whoever a man be and whatever he may possess, the
pain which is essential to life cannot be thrown off : —
1X77X6*8779 8' (pficogev, iScov ei9 ovpavov evpvv (Pelides autem
cjulavit, intuitus in caelum latum). And again : — £77^09
fiev irais 77a Kpoviovos, avrap oifyv eiyov aireipeanjv (Jovii
quidem filius cram Saturnii ; verum azrumnam habebam
infinitam). The ceaseless efforts to banish suffering ac-
complish no more than to make it change its form. It
is PRgp!l!Jg]^^ majnifi-

Tlfflfifl of 1*fo- If we succeed, which is very difficult, in
removing pain in this form, it immediately assumes a
thousand others, varying according to age and circum-
stances, such as lust, passionate love, jealousy, envy,
hatred, anxiety, ambition, covetousness, sickness, &c, &c.
If at last it can find entrance in no other form, it comes
in the sad, grey garments of tediousness and ennui,
against which we then strive in various ways. If finally
we succeed in driving this away, we shall hardly do so
without letting pain enter in one of its earlier forms, and
the dance begin again from the beginning ; for all himiaj^
life is tossed backwards and forwards between pain and
ennui. Depressing as this view of life is, I will draw
attention, by the way, to an aspect of it from which con-
solation may be drawn, and perhaps even a stoical indif-
ference to one's own present ills may be attained. For
our impatience at these arises for the most part from the
fact that we regard them as brought about by a chain of
causes which might easily be different. We do not gene-
rally grieve over ills which are directly necessary and
quite universal ; for example, the necessity of age and of

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 407

death, and many daily inconveniences. It is rather the;
consideration of the accidental nature of the circum-
stances that brought some sorrow just to us, that gives it
its sting. // But if we have recognised that pain, as such,
is inevitable and essential to life, and that nothing de-
pends upon chance but its mere fashion, the form under
which it presents itself, that thus our present sorrow fills a
place that, without it, would at once be occupied by another
which now is excluded by it, and that therefore fate can
affect us little in what is essential ; such a reflection, if
it were to become a living conviction, might produce a
considerable degree of stoical equanimity, and very much
lessen the anxious care for our own well-being. But, in
fact, such a powerful control of reason over directly felt
suffering seldom or never occurs.//

Besides, through this view of the inevitableness of pain,
of the supplanting of one pain by another, and the intro-
duction of a new pain through the passing away of that
which preceded it, one might be led to the paradoxical
but not absurd hypothesis, that in every i'ndivirlnfll thft
niftftarirftj^fjjip. pajn pasp.nt.ia.1 to him was determined, once.
for all by his nature, a measure which could neither
remain empty, nor be more than filled, however much the
form of the suffenn^_might_chnr>ge- Thus his suffering
and well-being would by no means be determined from
without, but only through that measure, that natural^ dis-
nositionj which indeed might experience certain additions
and diminutions from the physical condition at different
times, but yet, on the whole, would remain the same,
and would just be what is called the temperament, or,
more accurately, the degree in which he might be evtcdko?
or Sva/coXos, as Plato expresses it in the First Book of the
Republic, i.e.} in an easy or difficult mood. This hypo-
thesis is supported not only by the well-known experi-
ence that great suffering makes all lesser ills cease to be
felt, and conversely that freedom from great suffering
makes even the most trifling inconveniences torment us

408 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

and put us out of humour ; but experience also teaches
that it' a great misfortune, at the mere thought of which
we shuddered, actually befalls us, as soon as we have
overcome the first pain of it, our disposition remains for
the most part unchanged ; and, conversely, that after the
attainment of some happiness we have long desired, we
do not feel ourselves on the whole and permanently very
much better off and agreeably situated than before.
Only the moment at which these changes occur affects
us with unusual strength, as deep sorrow or exulting joy,
out both soon pass away, for they are based upon illu-
sion. For they do not spring from the immediately
present pleasure or pain, but only from the opening up
of a new future which is anticipated in them. Only by
borrowing from the future could pain or pleasure be
heightened so abnormally, and consequently not endur-
ingly. It would follow, from the hypothesis advanced,
that a large part of the feeling of suffering and of wellr
being would be subjective and determined a priori^as is
the case with knowing : and we may add the following
remarks as evidence in favour of it. Human cheerful-
ness or dejection are manifestly not determined by
external circumstances, such as wealth and position, for
we see at least as many glad faces among the poor as
among the rich. Further, the motives which induce
suicide are so very different, that we can assign no
motive that is so great as to bring it about, even with
great probability, in every character, and few that would
be so small that the like of them had never caused it.
Now although the degree of our serenity or sadness is
not at all times the same, yet, in consequence of this
view, we shall not attribute it to the change of
outward circumstances, but to that of the inner
condition, the_jphysical state. For when an actual,
though only temporary, increase of our serenity, even
to the extent of joyfulness, takes place, it usually
appears without any external occasion. It is true that

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 409

we often see our pain arise only from some definite ex-
ternal relation, and are visibly oppressed and saddened
by this only. Then we believe that if only this were
taken away, the greatest contentment would necessarily
ensue. But this is illusion. The jmeasure of our ..pain
and our happiness is on the whole, according to our
hypothesis, subjectively determined for each point of time,
and the motive for sadness is related to that, just as a
blister which draws to a head all the bad humours other-
wise distributed is related to the body. The pain which
is at that period of time essential to our nature, and
therefore cannot be shaken off, would, without the definite
external cause of our suffering, be divided at a hundred
points, and appear in the form of a hundred little annoy-
ances and cares about things which we now entirely over-
look, because our capacity for pain is already filled by
that chief evil which has concentrated in a point all the
suffering otherwise dispersed. This corresponds also to
the observation that if a great and pressing care is lifted
from our breast by its fortunate issue, another imme-
diately takes its place, the wThole material of which was
already there before, yet could not come into conscious-
ness as care because there was no capacity left for it, and
therefore this material of care remained indistinct and
unobserved in a cloudy form on the farthest horizon of
consciousness. But now that there is room, this prepared
material at once comes forward and occupies the throne
of the reigning care of the day {iTpvTavevovaa). And if it
is very much lighter in its matter than the material of the
care which has vanished, it knows how to blow itself out
so as apparently to equal it in size, and thus, as the chief
care of the day, completely fills the throne.

Excessive joy and very keen suffering always occur in
the same person, for they condition each other recipro-
cally, and are also in common conditioned by great activity
of the mind. Both are produced, as we have just seen,
not by what is really present, but by the anticipation of

4io THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

the future. But since pain is essential to life, and its
degree is also determined by the nature of the subject,
sudden changes, because they are always external, cannot
really alter its degree. Thus an error and delusion
always lies at the foundation of immoderate joy or grief,
and consequently both these excessive strainings of the
mind can be avoided by knowledge. Every immoderate
joy (exultatio, insolens Icetitid) always rests on the delu-
sion that one has found in life what can never be found
there — lasting satisfaction of the harassing desires and
cares, which are constantly breeding new ones. From
every particular delusion of this kind one must inevitably
be brought back later, and then when it vanishes must
pay for it with pain as bitter as the joy its entrance
caused was keen. So far, then, it is precisely like a
height from which one can come down only by a falL
Therefore one ought to avoid them; and every sudden
excessive grief is just a fall from some such height, the
vanishing of such a delusion, and so conditioned by it.
Consequently we might avoid them both if we had suffi-
cient control over ourselves to survey things always with
perfect clearness as a whole and in their connection, and
steadfastly to guard against really lending them the colours
which we wish they had. The principal effort of the
Stoical ethics was to free the mind from all such delusion
and its consequences, and to give it instead an equani-
mity that could not be disturbed. It is this insight that
inspires Horace in the well-known ode —

" JEqnam, memento rebus in arduiis
Servare mentem, non secus in bonis
Ab insolent i temperatam
Lcetitia."

For the most part, however, we close our minds against
the knowledge, which may be compared to a bitter medi-
cine, that suffering is essential to life, and therefore does,
not flow in upon us from without, but that every one
carries about with him its perennial source in his own

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 411

heart. We rather seek constantly for an external parti-
cular cause, as it were, a pretext for the pain which never
leaves us, just as the free man makes himself an idol, in
order to have a master. For we unweariedly strive from !
wish to wish ; and although every satisfaction, however j
much it promised, when attained fails to satisfy us, but
for the most part comes presently to be an error of which
we are ashamed, yet we do not see that we draw water
with the sieve of the Danaides, but ever hasten to new
desires.

11 Sed, dum abest quod avemus, id exsuperare videtur

Ccetera; post aliud, quum contigit Mud, avemus;

Et sitis cequa tenet vital semper Mantes." — Lucr. iii. 1095.

Thus it either goes on for ever, or, what is more rare and
presupposes a certain strength of character, till we reach
a wish which is not satisfied and yet cannot be given up.
In that case we have, as it were, found what we sought,
something that we can always blame, instead of our own
nature, as the source of our suffering. And thus, although
we are now at variance with our fate, we are reconciled
to our existence, for the knowledge is again put far from
us that suffering is essential to this existence itself, and
true satisfaction impossible. The result of this form of
development is a somewhat melancholy disposition, the
constant endurance of a single great pain, and the con-
tempt for all lesser sorrows or joys that proceeds from it ;
consequently an already nobler phenomenon than that
constant seizing upon ever-new forms of illusion, which is
much more common.

§ 58. All satisfaction, or what is commonly called
happinesses always really ^nd essentially_onry negative,
and never positive. It is not an original gratification
coming to us of itself, but must always be the satisfaction
of a wish. The wish, i.e., some want, is the condition
which precedes every pleasure. But with the satisfac-
tion the wish and therefore the pleasure cease. Thus the
satisfaction or the pleasing can never be more than the

(

412 THE WORLD AS WILL. BK. iv.

deliverance from a pain, from a want; for such is not
only every actual, open sorrow, but every desire, the
importunity of which disturbs our peace, and, indeed, the
deadening ennui also that makes life a burden to us. It
is, however, so hard to attain or achieve anything; diffi-
culties and troubles without end are opposed to every
purpose, and at every step hindrances accumulate. But
when finally everything is overcome and attained, nothing
can ever be gained but deliverance from some sorrow or
desire, so that we find ourselves just in the same position
as we occupied before this sorrow or desire appeared.
All that is even directly given us is merely the want, i.e.,
the pain. The satisfaction and the pleasure we can only
know indirectly through the remembrance of the preced-
ing suffering and want, which ceases with its appearance.
Hence it arises that we are not properly conscious of the
blessings and advantages we actually possess, nor do we
prize them, but think of them merely as a matter of
course, for they gratify us only negatively by restraining
suffering. Only when we have lost them do we become
sensible of their value; for thejgant, the privation, Jhe
sorrow, is the posjtive^_communicating itself directly ta
us. Thus also we are pleased by the remembrance of
past need, sickness, want, and such like, because this is
the only means of enjoying the present blessings. And,
further, it cannot be denied that in this respect, and from
this standpoint of egoism, which is thejorm of the will
tojive, the sight or the description of the sufferings of
others affords us satisfaction and pleasure in precisely the
way Lucretius beautifully and frankly expresses it in the
beginning of the Second Book —

" Suave, mari magno, turbantibus cequora ventis,
E terra magnum alterius spectare laborem:
Nony quia vexari quemquam estjucunda voluptat;
Sed, quibus ipse malis careas, quia ccniere suave est"

Yet we shall see farther on that this kind of pleasure,

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 413

through knowledge of our own well-being obtained in j
this way, lies very near the source of real, positive I
wickedness.

That all happiness is only of a negative not a positive
nature, that just on this account it cannot be lasting
satisfaction and gratification, but merely delivers us from '
some pain or want which must be followed either by a
new pain, or by languor, empty longing, and ennui; this
finds support in art^that true mirror of the world and
U^ and especially in poetry. Every epic and dramatic
poem can only represent a struggle, an effort, and fight for
happiness, never enduring and complete happiness itself.
It conducts its heroes through a thousand difficulties and
dangers to the goal; as soon as this is reached, it hastens
to let the curtain fall; for now there would remain
nothing for it to do but to show that the glittering goal
in which the hero expected to find happiness had only
disappointed him, and that after its attainment he was
no better off than before. Because a genuine enduring
happiness is not possible, it cannot be the subject of art (/
Certainly the aim of the idyll is the description of such
a happiness, but one also sees that the idyll as such can-
not continue. The poet always finds that it either
becomes epical in his hands, and in this case it is a very
insignificant epic, made up of trifling sorrows, trifling
delights, and trifling efforts— this is the commonest case
—or else it becomes a merely descriptive poem, describing
the beauty of nature, £e.,jmre knowing free from will/
which certainly, as a matter of fact, is tWlonly pure"
happiness, which is neither preceded by suffering "or
want, nor necessarily followed by repentance, sorrow,
emptiness, or satiety ; but this happiness cannot fill the
whole life, but is only possible at moments. What we
see in poetry we find again in music ; in the melodies of
which we have recognised the universal eyprpggirm 0f
the inmost history of the self-nnnSr;iona_^ii the most
secret life, longing, suffering, and delight ; the ebb and

v-

414 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

flow of the human heart. Melody is always a deviation
from the keynote through a thousand capricious wander-
ings, even to the most painful discord, and then a final
return to the keynote which expresses the satisfaction
and appeasing of the will, but with which nothing more
can then be done, and the continuance of which any
longer would only be a wearisome and unmeaning mono-
tony corresponding to ennui.

All that we intend to bring out clearly through these
investigations, the impossibility of attaining lasting
satisfaction and the negative nature of all happiness,
finds its explanation in what is shown at the conclusion
of the Second Book : that the will, of which human life.
. like_eyery phenomenon, is the objectification, is a strivings
vyMout aim or end. We find the stamp of this end-
lessness imprinted upon all the parts of its whole mani-
festation, from its most universal form, endless time and
space, up to the most perfect of all phenomena, the life
and efforts of man. We may theoretically assume J,hre*
extremes of human life^and treat them as elements of
actual human life. First, thejojE£rinl_Hrill, the strong
rja^sions, (Radscha-Guna). It appears in great historical
characters; it is described in the epic and the drama.
But it can also show itself in the little world, for the
size of the objects is measured here by the degree in
which they influence the will, not according to their
external relations. Secondly, pure knowing, the com-
pr.p.hp.nsion of the Idm, conditioned by thaJreeing of,
knjMeilge^romJhe_servk^ the^Hfe_of^geniii3

(Satwa-Guna). Thirdly and lastly, the grant. Agft lethargy
of the will, and also of the knowledge attaching to it,
empty longing, life-benumbing languor (Tama-Guna).
The life of the individual, far from becoming perma-
nently fixed in one of these extremes, seldom touches
any of them, and is for the most part only a weak and
wavering approach to one or the other side, a needy
desiring of trifling objects, constantly recurring, and so

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 415

escaping ennui. It is really incredible how meaningless
and void of significance when looked at from without,
how dull and unenlightened by intellect when felt from
within, is the course of the life of the great majority of
men. It is a weary longing and complaining, a dream-
like staggering through the four ages of life to death,
accompanied by a series of trivial thoughts. Such men
are like clockwork, which is wound up, and goes it knows
not why ; and every time a man is begotten and born,
the clock of human life is wound up anew, to repeat the
same old piece it has played innumerable times before,
passage after passage, measure after measure, with in-
significant variations. Every individual, every human
being and his course of life, is but another short dream
of the endless spirit of nature, of the persistent will to
live ; is only another fleeting form, which it carelessly
sketches on its infinite page, space and time ; allows to
remain for a time so short that it vanishes into nothing
in comparison with these, and then obliterates to make
new room. And yet, and here lies the serious side of
life, every one of these fleeting forms, these empty
fancies, must be paid for by the whole will to live, in all
its activity, with many and deep sufferings, and finally
with a bitter death, long feared and coming at last.
This is why the sight of a corpse makes us suddenly so
serious.

The life of every individual, if we survey it as a whole
and in general, and only lay stress upon its most signifi-
cant features, is really always a tragedy, but gone through
in detail, it has the character of a comedy. For the
deeds and vexations of the day, the restless irritation of
the moment, the desires and fears of the week, the
mishaps of every hour, are all through chance, which is
ever bent upon some jest, scenes of a comedy. But the
never-satisfied wishes, the frustrated efforts, the hopes
unmercifully crushed by fate, the unfortunate errors of
the whole life, with increasing suffering and death at the

416 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

end, are always a tragedy. Thus, as if fate would add
derision to the misery of our existence, our life must con-
tain all the woes of tragedy, and yet we cannot even
assert the dignity of tragic characters, but in the broad
detail of life must inevitably be the foolish characters of
a comedy.

But however much great and small trials may fill
human life, they are not able to conceal its insufficiency
to satisfy the spirit ; they cannot hide the^empiiaeaijmd
finpprf^jfljjfty nf gvic^^ nor exclude ennui, which is
always ready to fill up every pause that care may allow.
Hence it arises that the human mind, not content with
the cares, anxieties, and occupations which the actual
world lays upon it, creates for itself an imaginary world
also in the form of a thousand different superstitions, then
finds all manner of employment with this, and wastes
time and strength upon it, as soon as the real world is
willing to grant it the rest which it is quite incapable of
enjoying. This is accordingly most markedly the case
with nations for which life is made easy by the congenial
nature of the climate and the soil, most of all with the
Hindus, then with the Greeks, the Romans, and later
with the Italians, the Spaniards, &c. Demons, gods, and
saints man creates in his own image, ; and to them he
must then unceasingly bring offerings, prayers, temple
decorations, vows and their fulfilment, pilgrimages, salu-
tations, ornaments for their images, &c. Their service
mingles everywhere with the real, and, indeed, obscures
it. Every event of life is regarded as the work of these
beings ; the intercourse with them occupies half the time
of life, constantly sustains hope, and by the charm of
illusion often becomes more interesting than intercourse
with real beings. It is the expression and symptom
of the actual need of mankind, partly for help and
support, partly for occupation and diversion ; and if it
often works in direct opposition to the first need, be-
cause when accidents and dangers arise valuable time

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 417

and strength, instead of being directed to warding them
off, are uselessly wasted on prayers and offerings; it
serves the second end all the better by this imaginary
converse with a visionary spirit world; and this is the
by no means contemptible gain of all superstitions.

§ 59. If we have so far convinced ourselves a priori,
by the most general consideration, by investigation of the
primary and elemental features of human life, that in its
whole plan it is capable of no true blessedness, but is in
its very nature suffering in various forms, and throughout
a state of misery, we might now awaken this conviction
much more vividly within us if, proceeding more a pos-
teriori, we were to turn to more definite instances, call
up pictures to the fancy, and illustrate by examples the
unspeakable misery which experience and history present,
wherever one may look and in whatever direction one
may seek. But the chapter would have no end, and
would carry us far from the standpoint of the universal,
which is essential to philosophy ; and, moreover, such a
description might easily be taken for a mere declamation
on human misery, such as has often been given, and, as
such, might be charged with one-sidedness, because it
started from particular facts. From such a reproach and
suspicion our perfectly cold and philosophical investiga-
tion of the inevitable suffering which is founded in the
nature of life is free, for it starts from the universal and
is conducted a priori. But confirmation a posteriori is
everywhere easily obtained. Every one who has awakened
from the first dream of youth, who has considered his
own experience and that of others, who has studied him-
self in life, in the history of the past and of his own time,
and finally in the works of the great poets, will, if his
judgment is not paralysed by some indelibly imprinted pre-
judice, certainly arrive at the conclusion that this human
world is the kingdom of chance and error, which rule with-
out mercy in great things and in small, and along with which
folly and wickedness also wield the scourge. Hence it arises

VOL. I. 2D

418 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

that everything better only struggles through with diffi-
culty ; what is noble and wise seldom attains to expression,
becomes effective and claims attention, but the absurd
and the perverse in the sphere of thought, the dull and
tasteless in the sphere of art, the wicked and deceitful in
the sphere of action, really assert a supremacy, only dis-
turbed by short interruptions. On the other hand, every-
thing that is excellent is always a mere exception, one
case in millions, and therefore, if it presents itself in
a lasting work, this, when it has outlived the enmity of
its contemporaries, exists in isolation, is preserved like a
meteoric stone, sprung from an order of things different
from that which prevails here. But as far as the life of
the individual is concerned, every biography is the history
of suffering, for every life is, as a rule, a continual series
of great and small misfortunes, which each one conceals
as much as possible, because he knows that others can
seldom feel sympathy or compassion, but almost always
satisfaction at the sight of the woes from which they are
themselves for the moment exempt. But perhaps at the
end of life, if a man is sincere and in full possession of
his faculties, he will never wish to have it to live over
again, but rather than this, he will much prefer absolute
annihilation. The essential content of the famous solilo-
quy in " Hamlet " is briefly this : Our state is so wretched
that absolute annihilation would be decidedly preferable.
If suicide really offered us this, so that the alternative
" to be or not to be," in the full sense of the word, was
placed before us, then it would be unconditionally to be
chosen as " a consummation devoutly to be wished." But
there is something in us which tells us that this is not
the case : suicide is not the end ; death is not absolute
annihilation. In like manner, what was said by the
father of history x has not since him been contradicted,
that no man has ever lived who has not wished more
than once that he had not to live the following day

1 Herodot. vii. 46.

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 419

iccording to this, the brevity of life, which is so con-
stantly lamented, may be the best quality it possesses.
If, finally, we should bring clearly to a man's sight the
terrible sufferings and miseries to which his life is con-
stantly exposed, he would be seized with horror; and
if we were to conduct the confirmed optimist through
the hospitals, infirmaries, and surgical operating-rooms,
through the prisons, torture-chambers, and slave-kennels,
over battle-fields and places of execution ; if we were to
open to him all the dark abodes of misery, where it hides
itself from the glance of cold curiosity, and, finally, allow
him to glance into the starving dungeon of Ugolino, he,
too, would understand at last the nature of this " best of
possible worlds." For whence did Dante take the mate-
rials for his hell but from this our actual world ? And
yet he made a very proper hell of it. And when, on
the other hand, he came to the task of describing heaven
and its delights, he had an insurmountable difficulty
before him, for our world affords no materials at all for
this. Therefore there remained nothing for him to do
but, instead of describing the joys of paradise, to repeat
to us the instruction given him there by his ancestor, by
Beatrice, and by various saints. But from this it is
sufficiently clear what manner of world it is. Certainly
human life, like all bad ware, is covered over with a
false lustre: what suffers always conceals itself; on
the other hand, whatever pomp or splendour any one can
get, he makes a show of openly, and the more inner con-
tentment deserts him, the more he desires to exist as
fortunate in the opinion of others: to such an extent
does folly go, and the opinion of others is a chief aim of
the efforts of every one, although the utter nothingness
of it is expressed in the fact that in almost all languages
vanity, vanitas, originally signifies emptiness and nothing-
ness. But under all this false show, the miseries of life
can so increase — and this happens every day — that the
death which hitherto has been feared above all things is

42o THE WORLD AS WILL. BK. iv.

eagerly seized upon. Indeed, if fate will show its whole
malice, even this refuge is denied to the sufferer, and, in
the hands of enraged enemies, he may remain exposed to
terrible and slow tortures without remedy. In vain the
sufferer then calls on his gods for help; he remains
exposed to his fate without grace. But this irremedi-
ableness is only the mirror of the invincible nature of his
will, of which Ins person is the objectivity. As little as
an external power can change or suppress this will, so
little can a foreign power deliver it from the miseries
which proceed from the life which is the phenomenal
appearance of that wilL In the principal matter, as in
everything else, a man is always thrown back upon him-
self. In vain does he make to himself gods in order
to get from them by prayers and flattery what can only
be accomplished by his own will-power. The Old Testa-
ment made the world and man the work of a god, but the
New Testament saw that, in order to teach that holi-
ness and salvation from the sorrows of this world
can only come from the world itself, it was necessary that
this god should become man. It is and remains the
will of man upon which everything depends for him. Fana-
tics, martyrs, saints of every faith and name, have volun-
tarily and gladly endured every torture, because in them
the will to live had suppressed itself; and then even the
slow destruction of its phenomenon was welcome to them.
But I do not wish to anticipate the later exposition. For
the rest, I cannot here avoid the statement that, to me,
optimism, when it is not merely the thoughtless talk of
such as harbour nothing but words under their low fore-
heads, appears not merely as an absurd, but also as a
really wicked way of thinking, as a bitter mockery of the
unspeakable suffering of humanity. Let no one think
that Christianity is favourable to optimism ; for, on the
contrary, in the Gospels world and evil are used as almost
synonymous.1

1 Cf. Ch. xlvi. of Supplement

:

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 421

§ 60. "We have now completed the two expositions it
as necessary to insert ; the exposition of the freedom of
the will in itself together with the necessity of its phe-
nomenon, and the exposition of its lot in the world which
reflects its own nature, and upon the knowledge of which
it has to assert or deny itself. Therefore we can now
proceed to bring out more clearly the nature of this asser-
tion and denial itself, which was referred to and explained
in a merely general way above. This we shall do by
exhibiting the conduct in which alone it finds its expres-
sion, and considering it in its inner significance.

The assertion of the will is the continuous willing itself,
undisturbed by any knowledge, as it fills the life of man
in general. For even the body of a man is the objectivity
of the will, as it appears at this grade and in this indi-
vidual And thus his willing which develops itself in
time is, as it were, a paraphrase of his body, an elucida-
tion of the significance of the whole and its parts ; it is
another way of exhibiting the same thing-in-itself, of
which the body is already the phenomenon. Therefore,
instead of saying assertion of the will, we may say asser-
tion of the body. The fundamental theme or subject of
all the multifarious acts of will is the satisfaction of the
wants which are inseparable from the existence of the
body in health, they already have their expression in it,
and may be referred to the maintenance of the indivi-
dual and the propagation of the species. But indirectly
the most different kinds of motives obtain in this way
power over the will, and bring about the most multifari-
ous acts of wilL Each of these is only an example, an
instance, of the will which here manifests itself generally.
Of what nature this example may be, what form the
motive may have and impart to it, is not essential ; the
important point here is that something is willed in
general and the degree of intensity with which it is so
willed. The will can only become visible in the motives,
as the eye only manifests its power of seeing in the light

\s'

422 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

The motive in general stands before the will in protean
forms. It constantly promises complete satisfaction, the
quenching of the thirst of wilL But whenever it is
attained it at once appears in another form, and thus
influences the will anew, always according to the degree
of the intensity of this will, and its relation to knowledge
which are revealed as empirical character, in these very
examples and instances.

From the first appearance of consciousness, a man
* finds himself a willing being, and as a rule, his know-
ledge remains in constant relation to his wilL He first
seeks to know thoroughly the objects of his desire, and
then the means of attaining them. Now he knows what
he has to do, and, as a rule, he does not strive after other
knowledge. He moves and acts ; his consciousness keeps
him always working directly and actively towards the
aims of his will ; his thought is concerned with the
choice of motives. Such is life for almost all men ; they
wish, they know what they wish, and they strive after it>
with sufficient success to keep them from despair, and
sufficient failure to keep them from ennui and its conse-
quences. From this proceeds a certain serenity, or at
least indifference, which cannot be affected by wealth or
poverty ; for the rich and the poor do not enjoy what
they have, for this, as we have shown, acts in a purely
negative way, but what they hope to attain to by their
efforts. They press forward with much earnestness, and
indeed with an air of importance ; thus children also pur-
sue their play. It is always an exception if such a life
suffers interruption from the fact that either the aesthetic
demand for contemplation or the ethical demand for re-
nunciation proceed from a knowledge which is indepen-
dent of the service of the will, and directed to the nature
of the world in general. Most men are pursued by want
all through life, without ever being allowed to come to
their senses. On the other hand, the will is often in-
flamed to a degree that far transcends the assertion of the

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 423

body, and then violent emotions and powerful passions
show themselves, in which the individual not only asserts
his own existence, but denies and seeks to suppress that
of others when it stands in his way.

The maintenance of the body through its own powers
is so small a degree of the assertion of will, that if it
voluntarily remains at this degree, we might assume
that, with the death of this body, the will also which
appeared in it would be extinguished. But even the
satisfaction of the sexual passions goes beyond the asser-
tion of one's own existence, which fills so short a time,
and asserts life for an indefinite time after the death
of the individual. Nature, always true and consistent,
here even naive, exhibits to us openly the inner signi-
ficance of the act of generation. Our own consciousness,
the intensity of the impulse, teaches us that in this
act the most decided assertion of the will to live ex-
presses itself, pure and without further addition (any
denial of other individuals) ; and now, as the conse-
quence of this act, a new life appears in time and the
causal series, i.e., in nature ; the begotten appears before
the begetter, different as regards the phenomenon, but in
himself, i.e., according to the Idea, identical with him.
Therefore it is this act through which every species of
living creature binds itself to a whole and is per-
petuated. Generation is, with reference to the begetter,
only the expression, the symptom, of his decided asser-
tion of the will to live : with reference to the begotten,
it is not the cause of the will which appears in him, for
the will in itself knows neither cause nor effect, but,
like all causes, it is merely the occasional cause of the
phenomenal appearance of this will at this time in this
place. As thing-in-itself, the will of the begetter and that
of the begotten are not different, for only the phenomenon,
not the thing-in-itself, is subordinate to the principiu min-
dividuationis. With that assertion beyond our own body
and extending to the production of a new body, suffering

424 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

and death, as belonging to the phenomenon of life, have
also been asserted anew, and the possibility of salvation,
introduced by the completest capability of knowledge, has
for this time been shown to be fruitless. Here lies the
profound reason of the shame connected with the process
of generation. This view is mythically expressed in the
dogma of Christian theology that we are all partakers in
Adam's first transgression (which is clearly just the satis-
faction of sexual passion), and through it are guilty
of suffering and death. In this theology goes beyond
the consideration of things according to the principle of
sufficient reason, and recognises the Idea of man, the
unity of which is re-established out of its dispersion into
innumerable individuals through the bond of generation
which holds them all together. Accordingly it regards
every individual as on one side identical with Adam,
the representative of the assertion of life, and, so far, as
subject to sin (original sin), suffering, and death ; on the
other side, the knowledge of the Idea of man enables it
to regard every individual as identical with the saviour,
the representative of the denial of the will to live, and, so
far as a partaker of Ins sacrifice of himself, saved through
his merits, and delivered from the bands of sin and
death, i.e., the world (Eom. v. 12-21).

Another mythical exposition of our view of sexual
pleasure as the assertion of the will to live beyond the
individual life, as an attainment to life which is brought
about for the first time by this means, or as it were a
renewed assignment of life, is the Greek myth of Proser-
pine, who might return from the lower world so long as
she had not tasted its fruit, but who became subject
to it altogether through eating the pomegranate. This
meaning appears very clearly in Goethe's incomparable
presentation of this myth, especially when, as soon as
she has tasted the pomegranate, the invisible chorus of
the Fates —

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 425

" Thou art ours !
Fasting shouldest thou return :
And the bite of the apple makes thee ours ! "

It is worth noticing that Clement of Alexandria
(Strom, iii. c. 15) illustrates the matter with the same
image and the same expression: Ol fiev evvovx^avres
eavrov? airo iracr}? dfJbapTia*;, Bia rrjv ftaaikeiav, ratv
ovpavcov, fia/capioi, ovtol eucnv, 61 tov koct/ulov vrjaTevovTe?.
(Qui se castrarunt ah omni peccato propter regnum ccelorum,
ii sunt beati, a mundo jejuna/rites).

The sexual impulse also proves itself the decided and
strongest assertion of life by the fact that to man in a
state of nature, as to the brutes, it is the final end, the
highest goal of life. Self-maintenance is his first effort,
and as soon as he has made provision for that, he only
strives after the propagation of the species : as a merely
natural being he can attempt no more. Nature also, the
inner being of which is the will to live itself, impels with
all her power both man and the brute towards propaga-
tion. Then it has attained its end with the individual,
and is quite indifferent to its death, for, as the will to live,
it cares only for the preservation of the species, the indi-
vidual is nothing to it. Because the will to live expresses
itself most strongly in the sexual impulse, the inner being
of nature, the old poets and philosophers — Hesiod and
Parmenides— said very significantly that Eros is the first,
the creator, the principle from which all things proceed.
(Cf. Arist. Metaph., i. 4.) Pherecydes said : Ei? epwra
fieTaf3e(3\7)adcu tov Aia, fieWovra hrjfuovpyeiv (Jovem,
cum mundum fabricare vellet, in cupidinem sese transfor-
masse). Prochis ad Plat. Tim., 1. iii. A complete treat-
ment of this subject we have recently received from
6. F. Schoemann, " Be Cupidine Cosmogonico" 1852. The
Maya of the Hindus, whose work and web is the whole
world of illusion, is also symbolised by love.

The genital organs are, far more than any other exter-
nal member of the body, subject merely to the will, and

426 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk.iv.

not at all to knowledge. Indeed, the will shows itself
here almost as independent of knowledge, as in those parts
which, acting merely in consequence of stimuli, are sub-
servient to vegetative life and reproduction, in which the
will works blindly as in unconscious Nature. For gene-
ration is only reproduction passing over to a new indivi-
dual, as it were reproduction at the second power, as death
is only excretion at the second power. According to all
this, the genitals are properly the focus of will, and con-
sequently the opposite pole of the brain, the representative
of knowledge, i.e., the other side of the world, the world
as idea. The former are the life-sustaining principle en-
suring endless life to time. In this respect they were
worshipped by the Greeks in the phalhis, and by the
Hindus in the lingam, which are thus the symbol of the
assertion of the will. Knowledge, on the other hand,
affords the possibility of the suppression of willing, of sal-
vation through freedom, of conquest and annihilation of
the world.

We already considered fully at the beginning of this
Fourth Book how the will to live in its assertion must
regard its relation to death. We saw that death does
not trouble it, because it exists as something included in
life itself and belonging to it Its opposite, generation,
completely counterbalances it ; and, in spite of the death
of the individual, ensures and guarantees life to the will
to live through all time. To express this the Hindus
made the lingam an attribute of Siva, the god of death.
We also fully explained there how he who with full con-
sciousness occupies the standpoint of the decided assertion
of life awaits death without fear. We shall therefore say
nothing more about this here. Without clear conscious-
ness most men occupy this standpoint and continually
assert life. The world exists as the mirror of this asser-
tion, with innumerable individuals in infinite time and
space, in infinite suffering, between generation and death
without end Yet from no side is a complaint to be

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 427

further raised about this ; for the will conducts the great
tragedy and comedy at its own expense, and is also its
own spectator. The world is just what it is because the
will, whose manifestation it is, is what it is, because it
so wills. The justification of suffering is, that in this
phenomenon also the will asserts itself ; and this assertion
is justified and balanced by the fact that the will bears
the suffering. Here we get a glimpse of eternal justice in
the whole : we shall recognise it later more definitely and
distinctly, and also in the particular. But first we must
consider temporal or human justice.1

§ 61. It may be remembered from the Second Book
that in the whole of nature, at all the grades of the objec-
tification of will, there was a necessary and constant con-
flict between the individuals of all species ; and in this
way was expressed the inner contradiction of the will to
live with itself. At the highest grade of the objeetifica-
tion, this phenomenon, like all others, will exhibit itself
with greater distinctness, and will therefore be more easily
explained. With this aim we shall next attempt to trace
the source of egoism as the starting-point of all conflict.

We have called time and space the principium in-
dividuationis, because only through them and in them
is multiplicity of the homogeneous possible. They are
the essential forms of natural knowledge, i.e., know-
ledge springing from the wilL Therefore the will
everywhere manifests itself in the multiplicity of in-
dividuals. But this multiplicity does not concern the
will as thing-in-itself, but only its phenomena. The will
itself is present, whole and undivided, in every one of
these, and beholds around it the innumerably repeated
image of its own nature; but this nature itself, the
actually real, it finds directly only in its inner self.
Therefore every one desires everything for himself, desires
to possess, or at least to control, everything, and whatever
opposes it it would like to destroy. To this is added, in

1 Of. Ch. xlv. of the Supplement

428 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv

the case of such beings as have knowledge, that the indi-
vidual is the supporter of the knowing subject, and the
knowing subject is the supporter of the world, ie., that
the whole of Nature outside the knowing subject, and
thus also all other individuals, exist only in its idea ; it
is only conscious of them as its idea, thus merely indi-
rectly as something which is dependent on its own nature
and existence ; for with its consciousness the world neces-
sarily disappears for it, i.e., its being and non-being
become synonymous and indistinguishable. Every know-
ing individual is thus in truth, and finds itself as the
whole will to live, or the inner being of the world itself,
and also as the complemental condition of the world as
idea, consequently as a microcosm which is of equal value
with the macrocosm. Nature itself, which is everywhere
and always truthful, gives him this knowledge, originally
and independently of all reflection, with simple and direct
certainty. Now from these two necessary properties we
have given the fact may be explained that every indi-
vidual, though vanishing altogether and diminished to
nothing in the boundless world, yet makes itself the
centre of the world, has regard for its own existence
and well-being before everything else ; indeed, from the
natural standpoint, is ready to sacrifice everything else for
this — is ready to annihilate the world in order to maintain
its own self, this drop in the ocean, a little longer. This
disposition is egoism, which is essential to everything in
Nature Yet it is just through egoism that the inner
conflict of the will with itself attains to such a ter-
rible revelation ; for this egoism has its continuance
and being in that opposition of the microcosm and
macrocosm, or in the fact that the objectifi cation of
will has the principium individuationis for its form,
through which the will manifests itself in the same way
in innumerable individuals, and indeed entire and com-
pletely in both aspects (will and idea) in each. Thus,
while each individual is given to itself directly as the

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 429

whole will and the whole subject of ideas, other indi-
viduals are only given it as ideas. Therefore its own
being, and the maintenance of it, is of more importance
to itthan that of all others together. Every one looks
upon his own death as upon the end of the world, while
he accepts the death of his acquaintances as a matter of
comparative indifference, if he is not in some way affected
by it. In the consciousness that has reached the highest
grade, that of man, egoism, as well as knowledge, pain
and pleasure, must have reached its highest grade also,
and the conflict of individuals which is conditioned by it
must appear in its most terrible form. And indeed we
see this everywhere before our eyes, in small things as in
great. Now we see its terrible side in the lives of great
tyrants and miscreants, and in world- desolating wars;
now its absurd side, in which it is the theme of comedy, and
very specially appears as self-conceit and vanity. Eoche-
foucault understood this better than any one else, and
presented it in the abstract. We see it both in the history
of the world and in our own experience. But it appears
most distinctly of all when any mob of men is set free
from all law and order ; then there shows itself at once
in the distinctest form the helium omnium contra omnes,
which Hobbes has so admirably described in the first
chapter De Cive. We see not only how every one tries to
seize from the other what he wants himself, but how
often one will destroy the whole happiness or life of an-
other for the sake of an insignificant addition to his own
happiness. This is the highest expression of egoism, the
manifestations of which in this regard are only surpassed
by those of actual wickedness, which seeks, quite disin-
terestedly, the hurt and suffering of others, without any
advantage to itself. Of this we shall speak soon. With
this exhibition of the source of egoism the reader should
compare the presentation of it in my prize- essay on the
basis of morals, § 1 4.

A chief source of that suffering which we found above

43o THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

to be essential and inevitable to all life is, when it really
appears in a definite form, that Eris} the conflict of all
individuals, the expression of the contradiction, with
which the will to live is affected in its inner self, and
which attains a visible form through the principium indi-
viduationis. Wild-beast fights are the most cruel means
of showing this directly and vividly. In this original
discord lies an unquenchable source of suffering, in spite
of the precautions that have been taken against it, and
which we shall now consider more closely.

§ 62. It has already been explained that the first and
simplest assertion of the will to live is only the assertion of
one's own body, i.e., the exhibition of the will through acts
in time, so far as the body, in its form and design, exhi-
bits the same will in space, and no further. This asser-
tion shows itself as maintenance of the body, by means
of the application of its own powers. To it is directly
related the satisfaction of the sexual impulse ; indeed this
belongs to it, because the genitals belong to the body.
Therefore voluntary renunciation of the satisfaction of
that impulse, based upon no motive, is already a denial of
the will to live, is a voluntary self -suppression of it, upon
the entrance of knowledge which acts as a quieter. Accord-
ingly such denial of one's own body exhibits itself as_a
contradiction by the will of its own phenomenon. For
although here also the body objectinearin the genitals
the will to perpetuate the species, yet this is not willed.
Just on this account, because it is a denial or suppression
of the will to live, such a renunciation is a hard and pain-
ful self-conquest ; but of this later. But since the will
exhibits that self-assertion of one's own body in innumer-
able individuals beside each other, it very easily extends
in one individual, on account of the egoism peculiar to
them all, beyond this assertion to the denial of the same
will appearing in another individual The will of the
first breaks through the limits of the assertion of will of
another, because the individual either destroys or injures

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 431

this other body itself, or else because it compels the
powers of the other body to serve its own will, instead of
the will which manifests itself in that other body. Thus
if, from the will manifesting itself as another body, it with-
draws the powers of this body, and so increases the power
serving its own will beyond that of its own body, it con-
sequently asserts its own will beyond its own body by means
of the negation of the will appearing in another body.
This breaking through the limits of the assertion of will
of another has always been distinctly recognised, and its
concept denoted by the word wrong. For both sides
recognise the fact instantly, not, indeed, as we do here
in distinct abstraction, but as feeling. He who suffers
wrong feels the transgression into the sphere of the
assertion of his own body, through the denial of it by
another individual, as a direct and mental pain which is
entirely separated and different from the accompanying
physical suffering experienced from the act or the vexa-
tion at the loss. To the doer of wrong, on the other
hand, the knowledge presents itself that he is in himself
the same will which appears in that body also, and which
asserts itself with such vehemence in the one phenomenon
that, transgressing the limits of its own body and its
powers, it extends to the denial of this very will in
another phenomenon, and so, regarded as will in itself, it
strives against itself by this vehemence and rends itself.
Moreover, this knowledge presents itself to him instantly,
not in abstracto, but as an obscure feeling ; and this is
called remorse, or, more accurately in this case, the feel-
ing of wrong committed.

Wrong, the conception of which we have thus analysed
in its most general and abstract form, expresses itself in
the concrete most completely, peculiarly, and palpably in
cannibalism. This is its most distinct and evident type,
the terrible picture of the greatest conflict of the will
with itself at the highest grade of its objectification, which
is man. Next to this, it expresses itself most distinctly

%32 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

in murder; and therefore the committal of murder is
followed instantly and with fearful distinctness by remorse,
the abstract and dry significance of winch we have just
given, winch inflicts a wound on our peace of mind that
a lifetime cannot heal. For our horror at the murder
committed, as also our shrinking from the committal of
it, corresponds to that infinite clinging to life with which
everything living, as phenomenon of the will to live, is
penetrated. (We shall analyse this feeling which accom-
panies the doing of wrong and evil, in other words, the
pangs of conscience, more fully later on, and raise its
concept to distinctness.) Mutilation, or mere injury of
another body, indeed every blow, is to be regarded as in
its nature the same as murder, and differing from it only
in degree. Further, wrong shows itself in the subjugation
of another individual, in forcing him into slavery, and,
finally, in the seizure of another's goods, which, so far as
these goods are regarded as the fruit of his labour, is just
the same thing as making him a slave, and is related to
this as mere injury is to murder.

For property, which is not taken from a man without
wrong, can, according to our explanation of wrong, only
be that which has been produced by his own powers.
Therefore by taking this we really take the powers of his
body from the will objectified in it, to make them subject
to the will objectified in another body. For only so
does the wrong-doer, by seizing, not the body of another,
but a lifeless thing quite different from it, break into the
sphere of the assertion of will of another person, because
the powers, the work of this other body, are, as it vvere,
incorporated and identified with this thing. It follows
from this that all true, i.a, moral, right of property is
based simply and solely on work, as was pretty generally
assumed before Kant, and is distinctly and beautifully
expressed in the oldest of all codes of law : " Wise men
who know the past explain that a cultured field is the
property of him who cut down the wood and cleared and

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 433

ploughed it, as an antelope belongs to the first hunter
who mortally wounds it " (Laws of Menu, ix. 44). Kant's
philosophy of law is an extraordinary concatenation of
errors all leading to each other, and he bases the right
of property upon first occupation. To me this is only
explicable on the supposition that his powers were fail-
ing through old age. For how should the mere avowal
of my will to exclude others from the use of a thing at
once give me a right to it ? Clearly such an avowal
itself requires a foundation of right, instead of being one,
as Kant assumes. And how would he act unjustly in se,
i.e., morally, who does not respect that claim to the sole
possession of a thing which is based upon nothing but
its own avowal ? How should his conscience trouble
him about it ? For it is so clear and easy to understand
that there can be absolutely no such thing as a just seizure
of anything, but only a just conversion or acquired posses-
sion of it, by spending our own original powers upon it.
When, by any foreign labour, however little, a thing has
been cultivated, improved, kept from harm or preserved,
even if this labour were only the plucking or picking
up from the ground of fruit that has grown wild ; the
person who forcibly seizes such a thing clearly deprives
the other of the result of his labour expended upon it,
makes the body of this other serve his will instead of
its own, asserts his will beyond its own phenomenon to
the denial of that of the other, i.e., does injustice or
wrong.1 On the other hand, the mere enjoyment of a
thing, without any cultivation or preservation of it from
destruction, gives just as little right to it as the mere
avowal of our desire for its sole possession. Therefore,
though one family has hunted a district alone, even for a

1 Thus the basis of natural right sufficient. Only the name forma-

of property does not require the tion is not very suitable, for the

assumption of two grounds of right spending of any labour upon a thing

beside each other, that based on does not need to be a forming or

detention and that based on for- fashioning of it.
mation; but the latter is itself

VOL. I. 2 E

434 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

hundred years, but has done nothing for its improve-
ment ; if a stranger comes and desires to hunt there, it
cannot prevent him from doing so without moral in-
justice. Thus the so-called right of preoccupation,
according to which, for the mere past enjoyment of a
thing, there is demanded the further recompense of the
exclusive right to its future enjoyment, is morally
entirely without foundation. A new-comer might with
far better right reply to him who was depending upon
such a right, " Just because you have so long enjoyed,
it is right that others should now enjoy also." No
moral right can be established to the sole possession of
anything upon which labour cannot be expended, either
in improving it or in preserving it from harm, unless
it be through a voluntary surrender on the part of
others, as a reward for other services. This, however,
already presupposes a community regulated by agree-
ment— the State. The morally established right of pro-
perty, as we have deduced it above, gives, from its
nature, to the owner of a thing, the same unlimited
power over it which he has over his own body ; and hence
it follows that he can part with his possessions to others
either in exchange or as a gift, and they then possess them
with the same moral right as he did.

As regards the doing of wrong generally, it occurs
either through violence or through craft ; it matters not
which as far as what is morally essential is concerned.
First, in the case of murder, it is a matter of in-
difference whether I make use of a dagger or of poison ;
and the case of every bodily injury is analogous. Other
cases of wrong can all be reduced to the fact that I, as
the doer of wrong, compel another individual to serve my
will instead of his own, to act according to my will
instead of according to his own. On the path of violence
I attain this end through physical causality, but on the
path of craft by means of motivation, ie., by means of
causality through knowledge; for I present to his will

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 435

illusive motives, on account of which he follows my will,
while he believes he is following his own. Since the
medium in which the motives lie is knowledge, I can
only accomplish this by falsifying his knowledge, and
this is the lie. The lie always aims at influencing
another's will, not merely his knowledge, for itself and
as such, but only as a means, so far as it determines his
will. For my lying itself, inasmuch as it proceeds
from my will, requires a motive ; and only the will of
another can be such a motive, not his knowledge in and
for itself ; for as such it can never have an influence
upon my will, therefore it can never move it, can never
be a motive of its aim. But only the willing and doing
of another can be this, and his knowledge indirectly
through it. This holds good not only of all lies that
have manifestly sprung from self-interest, but also of
those which proceed from pure wickedness, which seeks
enjoyment in the painful consequences of the error into
which it has led another. Indeed, mere empty boasting
aims at influencing the will and action of others more or
less, by increasing their respect or improving their opinion
of the boaster. The mere refusal of a truth, i.e., of an
assertion generally, is in itself no wrong, but every im-
posing of a lie is certainly a wrong. He who refuses to
show the strayed traveller the right road does him no
wrong, but he who directs him to a false road certainly
does. It follows from what has been said, that every lie,
like every act of violence, is as such wrong, because as
such it has for its aim the extension of the authority of
my will to other individuals, and so the assertion of my
will through the denial of theirs, just as much as vio-
lence has. But the most complete lie is the broken
contract, because here all the conditions mentioned are
completely and distinctly present together. For when I
enter into a contract, the promised performance of the
other individual is directly and confessedly the motive
for my reciprocal performance. The promises were de-

436 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv

liberately and formally exchanged. The fulfilment o!
the declarations made is, it is assumed, in the power of
each. If the other breaks the covenant, he has deceived
me, and by introducing merely illusory motives into my
knowledge, he has bent my will according to his inten-
tion ; he has extended the control of his will to another
individual, and thus has committed a distinct wrong.
On this is founded the moral lawfulness and validity of
the contract.

Wrong through violence is not so shameful to the doer
of it as wrong through craft ; for the former arises from
physical power, which under all circumstances impresses
mankind; while the latter, by the use of subterfuge,
betrays weakness, and lowers man at once as a physical
and moral being. This is further the case because lying
and deception can only succeed if he who employs them
expresses at the same time horror and contempt of them
in order to win confidence, and his victory rests on the
fact that men credit him with honesty which he does not
possess. The deep horror which is always excited by
cunning, faithlessness, and treachery rests on the fact that
good faith and honesty are the bond which externally
binds into a unity the will which has been broken up
into the multiplicity of individuals, and thereby limits
the consequences of the egoism which results from that
dispersion. Faithlessness and treachery break this out-
ward bond asunder, and thus give boundless scope to the
consequences of egoism.

In the connection of our system we have found that
the content of the concept of rorong is that quality of the
conduct of an individual in which he extends the assertion
of the will appearing in his own body so far that it
becomes the denial of the will appearing in the bodies of
others. We have also laid down, by means of very
general examples, the limits at which the province of
wrong begins ; for we have at once defined its gradations,
from the highest degree to the lowest, by means of a few

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 437

leading conceptions. According to this, the concept of
wrong is the original and positive, and the concept of
right, which is opposed to it, is the derivative and nega-
tive ; for we must keep to the concepts, and not to the
words. As a matter of fact, there would be no talk of
right if there were no such thing as wrong. The concept
right contains merely the negation of wrong, and every
action is subsumed under it which does not transgress the
limit laid down above, i.e.t is not a denial of the will of
another for the stronger assertion of our own. That
limit, therefore, divides, as regards a purely moral defini-
tion, the whole province of possible actions into such
as are wrong or right. Whenever an action does not en-
croach, in the way explained above, on the sphere of the
assertion of will of another, denying it, it is not wrong.
Therefore, for example, the refusal of help to another in
great need, the quiet contemplation of the death of another
from starvation while we ourselves have more than enough,
is certainly cruel and fiendish, but it is not wrong ; only
it can be affirmed with certainty that whoever is capable
of carrying unkindness and hardness to such a degree will
certainly also commit every wrong whenever his wishes
demand it and no compulsion prevents it.

But the conception of right as the negation of wrong
finds its principal application, and no doubt its origin,
in cases in which an attempted wrong by violence is
warded off. This warding off cannot itself be wrong, and
consequently is right, although the violence it requires,
regarded in itself and in isolation, would be wrong, and
is here only justified by the motive, i.e., becomes right.
If an individual goes so far in the assertion of his
own will that he encroaches upon the assertion of will
which is essential to my person as such, and denies it,
then my warding off of that encroachment is only the
denial of that denial, and thus from my side is nothing
more than the assertion of the will which essentially and
originally appears in my body, and is already implicitly

438 THE WORLD AS WILL. BK. IV,

expressed by the mere appearance of this body ; conse-
quently is not wrong, but right That is to say : I have
then a right to deny that denial of another with the
force necessary to overcome it, and it is easy to see that
this may extend to the killing of the other individual,
whose encroachment as external violence pressing upon
me may be warded off by a somewhat stronger counter-
action, entirely without wrong, consequently with right.
For all that happens from my side lies always within the
sphere of the asseition of will essential to my person as
such, and already expressed by it (which is the scene of
the conflict), and does not encroach on that of the other,
consequently is only negation of the negation, and thus
affirmation, not itself negation. Thus if the will of
another denies my will, as this appears in my body and
the use of its powers for its maintenance, without denial
of any foreign will which observes a like limitation, I
can without wrong compel it to desist from such denial,
i.e., I have so far a right of compulsion.

In all cases in which I have a right of compulsion, a
complete right to use violence against another, I may,
according to the circumstances, just as well oppose the
violence of the other with craft without doing any wrong,
and accordingly I have an actual right to lie precisely so
far as I have a right of compulsion. Therefore a man acts
with perfect right who assures a highway robber who is
searching him that he has nothing more upon him ; or, if
a burglar has broken into his house by night, induces hhn
by a lie to enter a cellar and then locks him in. A man who
has been captured and carried off by robbers, for example
by pirates, has the right to kill them not only by violence
but also by craft, in order to regain his freedom. Thus,
also, a promise is certainly not binding when it has been
extorted by direct bodily violence, because he who suffers
such compulsion may with full right free himself by
killing, and, a fortiori, by deceiving his oppressor. Who-
ever cannot recover through force the property which has

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 439

been stolen from him, commits no wrong if he can accom-
plish it through craft Indeed, if some one plays with
me for money he has stolen from me, I have the right
to use false dice against him, because all that I win from
him already belongs to me. Whoever would deny this
must still more deny the justifiableness of stratagem in
war, which is just an acted lie, and is a proof of the say-
ing of Queen Christina of Sweden, " The words of men
are to be esteemed as nothing ; scarcely are their deeds
to be trusted." So sharply does the limit of right border
upon that of wrong. For the rest, I regard it as super-
fluous to show that all this completely agrees with what
was said above about the unlawfulness of the lie and
of violence. It may also serve to explain the peculiar
theory of the lie told under pressure.1

In accordance with what has been said, wrong and
right are merely moral determinations, i.e.y such as are
valid with regard to the consideration of human action as
such, and in relation to the inner significance of this action
in itself. This asserts itself directly in consciousness
through the fact that the doing of wrong is accompanied
by an inward pain, which is the merely felt consciousness
of the wrong-doer of the excessive strength of the asser-
tion of will in itself, which extends even to the denial
of the manifestation of the will of another, and also the
consciousness that although he is different from the
person suffering wrong as far as the manifestation is
concerned, yet in himself he is identical with him. The
further explanation of this inner significance of all pain
of conscience cannot be given till later. He who suffers
wrong is, on the other hand, painfully conscious of the
denial of his will, as it is expressed through the body
and its natural requirements, for the satisfaction of which
nature refers him to the powers of his body ; and at the

1 The further exposition of the " Ueber das Fundament der Moral,"
philosophy of law here laid down §17, pp. 221-230 of isted., pp. 216-
will be found in my prize-essay, 226 of 2d ed.

440 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

same time he is conscious that without doing wrong he
might ward off that denial by every means unless he
lacks the power. This purely moral significance is the
only one which right and wrong have for men as men,
not as members of the State, and which consequently
remains even when man is in a state of nature without
any positive law. It constitutes the basis and the con-
tent of all that has on this account been named natural
law, though it is better called moral law, for its validity
does not extend to suffering, to the external reality, but
only to the action of man and the self-knowledge of his
individual will which grows up in him from his action,
and which is called conscience. It cannot, however, in a
state of nature, assert itself in all cases, and outwardly
upon other individuals, and prevent might from reigning
instead of right. In a state of nature it depends upon
every one merely to see that in every case he docs no
wrong, but by no means to see that in every case he
suffers no wrong, for this depends on the accident of his
outward power. Therefore the concepts right and wrong,
even in a state of nature, are certainly valid and by no
means conventional, but there they are valid merely as
moral concepts, for the self-knowledge of one's own will in
each. They are a fixed point in the scale of the very dif-
ferent degrees of strength with which the will to live asserts
itself in human individuals, like the freezing-point on the
thermometer ; the point at which the assertion of one's
own will becomes the denial of the will of another, i.e.y
specifies through wrong-doing the degree of its intensity,
combined with the degree in which knowledge is involved
in the principium individuationis (which is the form of all
knowledge that is subject to the will). But whoever
wants to set aside the purely moral consideration of
human action, or denies it, and wishes to regard conduct
merely in its outward effects and their consequences, may
certainly, with Hobbes, explain right and wrong as con-
ventional definitions arbitrarily assumed, and therefore

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 441

not existing outside positive law, and we can never show
him through external experience what does not belong to
such experience. Hobbes himself characterises his com-
pletely empirical method of thought very remarkably by
the fact that in his book " De Principiis Gcomdrarum "
he denies all pure mathematics properly so called, and
obstinately maintains that the point has extension and
the line has breadth, and we can never show him a point
without extension or a line without breadth. Thus we
can just as little impart to him the a 'priori nature of
mathematics as the a priori nature of right, because
he shuts himself out from all knowledge which is not
empirical.

The pure doctrine of right is thus a chapter of ethics,
and is directly related only to action, not to suffering ;
for only the former is the expression of will, and this
alone is considered by ethics. Suffering is mere occur-
rence. Ethics can only have regard to suffering indi-
rectly, merely to show that what takes place merely to
avoid suffering wrong is itself no infliction of wrong.
The working out of this chapter of ethics would contain
the precise definition of the limits to which an individual
may go in the assertion of the will already objectified in
his body without denying the same will as it appears in
another individual ; and also the actions which transgress
these limits, which consequently are wrong, and therefore
in their turn may be warded off without wrong. Thus
our own action always remains the point of view of the
investigation.

But the suffering of wrong appears as an event in outward
experience, and in it is manifested, as we have said, more
distinctly than anywhere else, the phenomenon of the
conflict of the will to live with itself, arising from the
multiplicity of individuals and from egoism, both of which
are conditioned through the principium individuationis,
which is the form of the world as idea for the knowledge
of the individual We also saw above that a very large

442 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

part of the suffering essential to human life has its
perennial source in that conflict of individuals.

The reason, however, which is common to all these
individuals, and which enables them to know not merely
the particular case, as the brutes do, but also the whole
abstractly in its connection, has also taught them to dis-
cern the source of that suffering, and induced them to
consider the means of diminishing it, or, when possible,
of suppressing it by a common sacrifice, which is, how-
ever, more than counterbalanced by the common advan-
tage that proceeds from it. However agreeable it is to
the egoism of the individual to inflict wrong in particular
cases, this has yet a necessary correlative in the suffering
of wrong of another individual, to whom it is a great pain.
And because the reason which surveys the whole left the
one-sided point of view of the individual to which it be-
longs, and freed itself for the moment from its depen-
dence upon it, it saw the pleasure of an individual in
inflicting wrong always outweighed by the relatively
greater pain of the other who suffered the wrong ; and it
found further, that because here everything was left to
chance, every one had to fear that the pleasure of conve-
niently inflicting wrong would far more rarely fall to his
lot than the pain of enduring it. From this reason recog-
nised that both in order to diminish the suffering which
is everywhere disseminated, and as far as possible to
divide it equally, the best and only means was to spare
all the pain of suffering wrong by renouncing all the
pleasure to be obtained by inflicting it. This means is
the contract of the state or law. It is easily conceived,
and little by little carried out by the egoism, which,
through the use of reason, proceeds methodically and for-
sakes its one sided point of view. This origin of the state
and of law I have indicated was already exhibited as such
by Flato in the " Republic." In fact, it is the essential
and only origin, determined by the nature of the matter.
Moreover, in no land can the state have ever had a

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 443

different origin, because it is just this mode of origi-
nating this aim that makes it a state. But it is a
matter of indifference whether, in each particular nation,
the condition which preceded it was that of a horde of
savages independent of each other (anarchy), or that of
a horde of slaves ruled at will by the stronger (des-
potism). In both cases there existed as yet no state ; it
first arose through that common agreement ; and accord-
ing as that agreement is more or less free from anarchy
or despotism, the state is more or less perfect. Ke-
publics tend to anarchy, monarchies to despotism, and
the mean of constitutional monarchy, which was there-
fore devised, tends to government by factions. In order
to found a perfect state, we must begin by providing
beings whose nature allows them always to sacrifice
their own to the public good. Till then, however,
something may be attained through the existence of one
family whose good is quite inseparable from that of the
country ; so that, at least in matters of importance, it
can never advance the one without the other. On this
rests the power and the advantage of the hereditary
monarchy.

Now as ethics was concerned exclusively with right
and wrong doing, and could accurately point out the
limits of his action to whoever was resolved to do no
wrong ; politics, on the contrary, the theory of legis-
lation, is exclusively concerned with the suffering of
wrong, and would never trouble itself with wrong-doing
at all if it were not on account of its ever-necessary
correlative, the suffering of wrong, which it always keeps
in view as the enemy it opposes. Indeed, if it were
possible to conceive an infliction of wrong with which
no suffering of wrong on the part of another was con-
nected, the state would, consistently, by no means pro-
hibit it. And because in ethics the will, the disposition,
is the object of consideration, and the only real thing,
the firm will to do wrong, which is only restrained

444 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

and rendered ineffective by external might, and the
actually committed wrong, are to it quite the same,
and it condemns him who so wills as unjust at its
tribunal. On the other hand, will and disposition,
merely as such, do not concern the state at all, but
only the deed (whether it is merely attempted or carried
out), on account of its correlative, the suffering on the
part of another. Thus for the state the deed, the event,
is the only real ; the disposition, the intention, is only
investigated so far as the significance of the deed
becomes known through it Therefore the state will for-
bid no one to carry about in his thought murder and
poison against another, so long as it knows certainly that
the fear of the sword and the wheel will always restrain
the effects of that will The state has also by no means
to eradicate the foolish purpose, the inclination to wrong-
doing, the wicked disposition ; but merely always to place
beside every possible motive for doing a wrong a more
powerful motive for leaving it undone in the inevitable
punishment that will ensue. Therefore the criminal coc7a
is as complete a register as possible of motives against
every criminal action that can possibly be imagined — both
in abstracto, in order to make any case that occurs an
application in concreto. Politics or legislation will there-
fore for this end borrow from that chapter of ethics which
is the doctrine of right, and which, besides the inner sig-
nificance of right and wrong, determines the exact limits
between them. Yet it will only do so for the purpose of
making use of its reverse side, and regarding all the limits
which ethics lays down as not to be transgressed, if we are
to avoid doing wrong, from the other side, as the limits
which we must not allow others to transgress if we do
not wish to suffer wrong, and from which we have there-
fore a right to drive others back. Therefore these limits
are, as much as possible, from the passive side, barricaded
by laws. It is evident that as an historian has very
wittily been called an inverted prophet, the professor of

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 445

law is an inverted moralist, and therefore law itself, in
its proper sense, i.e., the doctrine of the right, which we
ought to maintain, is inverted ethics in that chapter of
it in which the rights are laid down which we ought not
to violate. The concept of wrong and its negation, that
of right, which is originally ethical, becomes juridical by
the transference of the starting-point from the active to the
passive side, and thus by inversion, This, as well as Kant's
theory of law, which very falsely deduces the institution
of the state as a moral duty from his categorical imperative,
has, even in the most recent times, repeatedly occasioned
the very extraordinary error that the state is an institution
for furthering morality ; that it arises from the endeavour
after this, and is, consequently, directed against egoism.
As if the inward disposition, to which alone morality or
immorality belongs, the externally free will, would allow it-
self to be modified from without and changed by influences
exerted upon it ! Still more perverse is the theory that
the state is the condition of freedom in the moral sense,
and in this way the condition of morality; for freedom
lies beyond the phenomenon, and indeed beyond human
arrangements. The state is, as we have said, so little
directed against egoism in general and as such, that, on
the contrary, it has sprung from egoism and exists only
in its service — an egoism that well understands itself,
proceeds methodically and forsakes the one-sided for the
universal point of view, and so by addition is the common
egoism of all. The state is thus instituted under the
correct presupposition that pure morality, i.e., right action
from moral grounds, is not to be expected ; if this were
not the case, it would itself be superfluous. Thus the
state, which aims at well-being, is by no means directed
against egoism, but only against the disadvantageous
consequences which arise from the multiplicity of egoistic
individuals, and reciprocally affect them all and disturb
their well-being. Therefore it was already said by Aris-
totle (De. Rep. iii.) : Te\o9 iitv ovv 7roXew9 to ev fyv.

446 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

tovto Be eariv to £tjv evSaifiova)? teat /raXw? (Finis civi-
tatis est bene vivcrc, hoc autem est beate et pulchre vivere).
Hobbes also has accurately and excellently expounded
this origin and eud of the state ; and that old first prin-
ciple of all state policy, salus publico, prima lex esto}
indicates the same thing. If the state completely attains
its end, it will produce the same outward result as if
perfect justice of disposition prevailed everywhere. But
the inner nature and origin of both phenomena will be
the converse. Thus in the second case it would be that
no one wished to do wrong, and in the first that no one
wished to suffer wrong, and the means appropriate to this
end had been fully employed. Thus the same line may
be drawn from opposite directions, and a beast of prey
with a muzzle is as harmless as a graminivorous animaL
But beyond this point the state cannot go. It cannot
exhibit a phenomenon such as would spring from universal
mutual well-wishing and love. For just as we found that
from its nature it would not forbid the doing of a wrong
which involved no corresponding suffering of wrong on
the part of another, and prohibits all wrong-doing only
because this is impossible ; so conversely, in accordance
with its tendency towards the well-being of all, it would
very gladly take care that every benevolent action and
work of human love should be experienced, if it were not
that these also have an inevitable correlative in the per-
formance of acts of benevolence and works of love, and
every member of the state would wish to assume the
passive and none the active role, and there would be no
reason for exacting the latter from one member of the
state rather than from another. Accordingly only the
negative, which is just the right, not the positive, which
has been comprehended under the name of obligations of
love, or, less completely, duties, can be exacted by force.

Legislation, as we have said, borrows the pure philo-
sophy of right, or the doctrine of the nature and limits
of right and wrong, from ethics, in order to apply it from

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 447

the reverse side to its own ends, which are different
from those of ethics, and to institute positive legislation
and the means of supporting it, i.e., the state, in accord-
ance with it. Positive legislation is thus the inverted
application of the purely moral doctrine of right. This
application may be made with reference to the peculiar
relations and circumstances of a particular people. But
only if the positive legislation is, in essential matters,
throughout determined in accordance with the guidance
of the pure theory of right, and for each of its proposi-
tions a ground can be established in the pure theory of
right, is the legislation which has arisen a positive right
and the state a community based upon right, a state in
the proper meaning of the word, a morally permissible,
not immoral institution. Otherwise the positive legisla-
tion is, on the contrary, the establishment of a positive
wrong ; it is itself an openly avowed enforced wrong.
Such is every despotism, the constitution of most Moham-
medan kingdoms; and indeed various parts of many
constitutions are also of this kind ; for example, serfdom,
vassalage, and many such institutions. The pure theory
of right or natural right — better, moral right — though
always reversed, lies at the foundation of every just posi-
tive legislation, as pure mathematics lies at the founda-
tion of every branch of applied mathematics. The most
important points of the doctrine of right, as philosophy has
to supply it for that end to legislation, are the following :
I. The explanation of the inner and real significance
both of the origin of the conceptions of wrong and right,
and of their application and position in ethics. 2. The
deduction of the law of property. 3. The deduction of
the moral validity of contracts; for this is the moral
basis of the contract of the state. 4. The explanation of
the origin and the aim of the state, of the relation of this
aim to ethics, and of the intentional transference of the
ethical doctrine of right, by reversing it, to legislation, in
consequence of this relation. 5. The deduction of the

448 THE WORLD AS WILL.

BK. IV.

right of punishment The remaining content of the doc-
trine of right is mere application of these principles,
mere accurate definition of the limits of right and wron<*
for all possible relations of life, which are consequently
united and distributed under certain points of view and
titles. In these special doctrines the books which treat
of pure law are fairly at one; it is only in the principles
that they differ much, for these are always connected
with some philosophical system. In connection with our
system, we have explained the first four of these principal
points shortly and generally, yet definitely and distinctly,
and it remains for us to speak in the same way of the
right of punishment.

Kant makes the fundamentally false assertion that
apart from the state there would be no complete right of
property. It follows from our deduction, as given above
that even in a state of nature there is property with
complete natural, ie., moral right, which cannot be in-
jured without wrong, but may without wrong be defended
to the uttermost. On the other hand, it is certain that
apart from the state there is no right of punishment
All right to punish is based upon the positive law alone,
which before the offence has determined a punishment
for it, the threat of winch, as a counter-motive, is in-
tended to outweigh all possible motives for the offence.
This positive law is to be regarded as sanctioned and
recognised by all the members of the state. It is
thus based upon a common contract which the mem-
bers of the state are in duty bound to fulfil, and thus,
on the one hand, to inflict the punishment, and, on the
other hand, to endure it; thus the endurance of the
punishment may with right be enforced. Consequently
the immediate end of punishment is, in the particular
case, the fulfilment of the law as a contract. But the one
end of the law is deterrence from the infringement of the
rights of others. For, in order that every one may be
protected from suffering wrong, men have combined to

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 449

form a state, have renounced the doing of wrong, and
assumed the task of maintaining the state. Thus the
law and the fulfilment of it, the punishment, are essen-
tially directed to the future, not to the past. This dis-
tinguishes punishment from revenge; for the motives which
instigate the latter are solely concerned with what has
happened, and thus with the past as such. All requital
of wrong by the infliction of pain, without any aim for
the future, is revenge, and can have no other end than
consolation for the suffering one has borne by the sight
of the suffering one has inflicted upon another. This is
wickedness and cruelty, and cannot be morally justified.
Wrong which some one has inflicted upon me by no
means entitles me to inflict wrong upon him The re-
quital of evil with evil without further intention is
neither morally nor otherwise through any rational
ground to be justified, and the jus talionis set up as the
absolute, final principle of the right of punishment, is
meaningless. Therefore Kant's theory of punishment as
mere requital for requital's sake is a completely ground-
less and perverse view. Yet it is always appearing in
the writings of many jurists, under all kinds of lofty
phrases, which amount to nothing but empty words, as :
Through the punishment the crime is expiated or neut-
ralised and abolished, and many such. But no man has
the right to set himself up as a purely moral judge and
requiter, and punish the misdeeds of another with pains
which he inflicts upon him, and so to impose penance
upon him for his sins. Nay, this would rather be the
most presumptuous arrogance; and therefore the Bible
says, " Vengeance is mine ; I will repay, saith the Lord."
But man has the right to care for the safety of society ;
and this can only be done by interdicting all actions
winch are denoted by the word "criminal," in order
to prevent them by means of counter-motives, which
are the threatened punishments. And this threat can
only be made effective by carrying it out when a case
vol. 1. 2 F

450 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

occurs in spite of it Accordingly that the end of
punishment, or more accurately of penal law, is the
deterrence from crime, is a truth so generally recognised
and indeed self-evident, that in England it is expressed
in the very old form of indictment which is still served
by the counsel for the Crown in criminal actions, for it
concludes with the words, " If this be proved, you, the said
N. K, ought to be punished with pains of law, to deter
others from the like crimes in all time coming." If a
prince desires to extend mercy to a criminal who has
justly been condemned, his Ministers will represent to him
that, if he does, this crime will soon be repeated. An
end for the future distinguishes punishment from revenge,
and punishment only has this end when it is inflicted in
fulfilment of a lav:. It thus announces itself as inevitable
in every future case, and thus the law obtains the power
to deter, in which its end really consists. Now here a
Kantian would inevitably reply that certainly according
to this view the punished criminal would be used " merely
as a means." This proposition, so unweariedly repeated
by all the Kantians, " Man must always be treated as an
end, never as a means," certainly sounds significant, and
is therefore a very suitable proposition for those who like
to have a formula which saves them all further thought;
but looked at in the light, it is an exceedingly vague,
indefinite assertion, which reaches its aim quite indirectly,
requires to be explained, defined, and modified in every
case of its application, and, if taken generally, is insuffi-
cient, meagre, and moreover problematical. The murderer
who has been condemned to the punishment of death
according to law must now, at any rate, and with com-
plete right, be used as a mere means. For public security,
the chief end of the state, is disturbed by him ; indeed it
is abolished if the law is not carried out, The murderer,
his life, his person, must now be the means of fulfilling
the law, and thereby of re-establishing the public secu-
rity. And he is made such a means with perfect right*

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 451

in fulfilment of the contract of the state, which was
entered into by him because he was a citizen, and in
accordance with which, in order to enjoy security for his
life, freedom, and property, he has pledged his life, his
freedom, and his property for the security of all, which
pledge has now been forfeited.

This theory of punishment which we have estab-
lished, the theory which is directly supported by sound
reason, is certainly in the main no new thought ; but it
is a thought which was almost supplanted by new errors,
and therefore it was necessary to exhibit it as distinctly
as possible. The same thing is in its essence contained
in what Puffendorf says on the subject, "De Officio Eominis
et Civis" (Bk. ii. chap. 12). Hobbes also agrees with it,
I Leviathan " (chaps. 1 5-28). In our own day Feurbach
is well known to have maintained it. Indeed, it occurs
even in the utterances of the ancient philosophers. Plato
expresses it clearly in the " Protagoras " (p. 114, edit.
Bip.), also in the " Gorgias" (p. 168), and lastly in the
eleventh book of the "Laws" (p. 165). Seneca ex-
presses Plato's opinion and the theory of all punishment
in the short sentence, " J¥emo prudens punit, quiapeccatum
est ; sed ne peccetur " (De Ira, i. 1 6).

Thus we have come to recognise in the state the
means by which egoism endowed with reason seeks to
escape from its own evil consequences which turn against
itself, and now each promotes the well-being of all
because he sees that his own well-being is involved in it.
If the state attained its end completely, then to a certain
extent something approaching to an Utopia might finally,
by the removal of all kinds of evil, be brought about.
For by the human powers united in it, it is able to make
the rest of nature more and more serviceable. But as
yet the state has always remained very far from this
goal. And even if it attained to it, innumerable evils
essential to all life would still keep it in suffering ; and
finally, if they were all removed, ennui would at once occupy

452 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. rv.

every place they left And besides, the strife of indi-
viduals is never completely abolished by the state, for it
vexes in trifles when it is prohibited in greater things.
Finally, Kris, happily expelled from within, turns to what
is without ; as the conflict of individuals, she is banished
by the institution of the state ; but she reappears from
without as the war of nations, and now demands in bulk
and at once, as an accumulated debt, the bloody sacrifice
which by wise precautions has been denied her in the
particular. And even supposing that all this were finally
overcome and removed, by wisdom founded on the experi-
ence of thousands of years, at the end the result would
be the actual over-population of the whole planet, the
terrible evil of which only a bold imagination can now
realise.1

§63. We have recognised temporal justice, which has
its seat in the state, as requiting and punishing, and
have seen that this only becomes justice through a re-
ference to the future. For without this reference all
punishing and requiting would be an outrage without
justification, and indeed merely the addition of another
evil to that which has already occurred, without meaning
or significance. But it is quite otherwise with eternal
justice, which was referred to before, and winch rules not
the state but the world, is not dependent upon human
institutions, is not subject to chance and deception, is not
uncertain, wavering, and erring, but infallible, fixed, and
sure. The conception of requital implies that of time ;
therefore eternal justice cannot be requital Thus it
cannot, like temporal justice, admit of respite and delay,
and require time in order to triumph, equalising the evil
deed by the evil consequences only by means of time.
The punishment must here be so bound up with the
offence that both are one.

1 Of. Oh. xlviL of Supplement

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 453

Aoxsirs nqdccii r ctd/xwetr' sig hong
YIrePotei, xavur' sv Aio; de\TOV wnjyjjiig
Tpupeiv rtv1 aura,, Zriva. d' eioopmrcc wv
Ovrjroig dixufyiv • Ovd' 6 irao oveccvog,
Aiog ygatpovroi ru.% (3ootwv apagriag,
E^ocpxtffsisv, ovd' txuvog av axonm
TlefAneiv sxaffry tyifiw aXX* r, A/xjj
Evravda wov 'tfr/v syyvg, it fiovXecO' 6gq,v.

Eurip. ap. Stob. Eel., i c. 4.

("Volare pennis scelera ad aetherias doinus
Putatis, illic in Jovis tabularia
Scripto referri ; turn Jovem lectis super
Sententiam proferre 1 — sed mortalium
Facinora cceli, quantaquanta est, regia
Nequit tenere : nee legendis Juppiter
Et puniendis par est. Est tamen ultio,
Et, si intuemur, ilia nos habitat prope.")

Now that such an eternal justice really lies in the nature
of the world will soon become completely evident to
whoever has grasped the whole of the thought which we
have hitherto been developing.

The world, in all the multiplicity of its parts and
forms, is the manifestation, the objectivity, of the one
will to live. Existence itself, and the kind of existence,
both as a collective whole and in every part, proceeds
from the will alone. The will is free, the will is
almighty. The will appears in everything, just as it
determines itself in itself and outside time. The world
is only the mirror of this willing ; and all finitude, all
suffering, all miseries, which it contains, belong to the
expression of that which the will wills, are as they are
because the will so wills. Accordingly with perfect right
every being supports existence in general, and also the
existence of its species and its peculiar individuality,
entirely as it is and in circumstances as they are, in a
world such as it is, swayed by chance and error, transient,
ephemeral, and constantly suffering; and in all that it
experiences, or indeed can experience, it always gets its

454 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

due. For the will belongs to it ; and as the will is, so
is the world. Only this world itself can bear the
responsibility of its own existence and nature — no other ;
for by what means could another have assumed it ? Do
we desire to know what men, morally considered, are
worth as a whole and in general, we have only to
consider their fate as a whole and in general. This is
want, wretchedness, affliction, misery, and death. Eternal
justice reigns ; if they were not, as a whole, worthless,
their fate, as a whole, would not be so sad. In this
sense we may say, the world itself is the judgment of
the world. If we could lay all the misery of the world
in one scale of the balance, and all the guilt of the world
in the other, the needle would certainly point to the
centre.

Certainly, however, the world does not exhibit itself
to the knowledge of the individual as such, developed
for the service of the will, as it finally reveals itself
to the inquirer as the objectivity of the one and only
will to live, which he himself is. But the sight of the
■ uncultured individual is clouded, as the Hindus say, by
the veil of Maya.. He sees not the thing-in-itself but the
phenomenon in time and space, the principium indivi-
duationis, and in the other forms of the principle of
sufficient reason. And in this form of his limited know-
ledge he sees not the inner nature of things, which is
one, but its phenomena as separated, disunited, innumer-
able, very different, and indeed opposed. For to him
pleasure appears as one thing and pain as quite another
thing : one man as a tormentor and a murderer, another
as a martyr and a victim ; wickedness as one thing and
evil as another. He sees one man live in joy, abund-
ance, and pleasure, and even at his door another die
miserably of want and cold. Then he asks, Where is
the retribution ? And he himself, in the vehement
pressure of will which is his origin and his nature,
seizes upon the pleasures and enjoyments of life, firmly

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 455

embraces them, and knows not that by this very
act of his will he seizes and hugs all those pains and
sorrows at the sight of which he shudders. He sees
the ills and he sees the wickedness in the world, but
far from knowing that both of these are but different
sides of the manifestation of the one will to live, he
regards them as very different, and indeed quite opposed,
and often seeks to escape by wickedness, i.e., by causing
the suffering of another, from ills, from the suffering of
his own individuality, for he is involved in the prin-
eipium individuations, deluded by the veil of Maya.
Just as a sailor sits in a boat trusting to his frail
barque in a stormy sea, unbounded in every direction,
rising and falling with the howling mountainous waves ;
so in the midst of a world of sorrows the individual
man sits quietly, supported by and trusting to the
principium individuations, or the way in which the
individual knows things as phenomena. The boundless
world, everywhere full of suffering in the infinite past,
in the infinite future, is strange to him, indeed is to him
but a fable ; his ephemeral person, his extensionless pre-
sent, his momentary satisfaction, this alone has reality
for him ; and he does all to maintain this, so long as
his eyes are not opened by a better knowledge. Till
then, there lives only in the inmost depths of his con-
sciousness a very obscure presentiment that all that is
after all not really so strange to him, but has a con-
nection with him, from which the principium individua-
tionis cannot protect him. From this presentiment
arises that ineradicable awe common to all men (and
indeed perhaps even to the most sensible of the brutes)
which suddenly seizes them if by any chance they
become puzzled about the principium individuationis,
because the principle of sufficient reason in some one of
its forms seems to admit of an exception. For example,
if it seems as if some change took place without a cause,
or some one who is dead appears again, or if in any

456 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

other way the past or the future becomes present or
the distant becomes near. The fearful terror at any-
thing of the kind is founded on the fact that they sud-
denly become puzzled about the forms of knowledge of
the phenomenon, which alone separate their own in-
dividuality from the rest of the world. But even this
separation lies only in the phenomenon, and not in the
thing-in-itself ; and on this rests eternal justice. In
fact, all temporal happiness stands, and all prudence
proceeds, upon ground that is undermined. They defend
the person from accidents and supply its pleasures ; but
the person is merely phenomenon, and its difference from
other individuals, and exemption from the sufferings which
they endure, rests merely in the form of the phenomenon,
the principium individuation™. According to the true
nature of things, every one has all the suffering of the
world as his own, and indeed has to regard all merely
possible suffering as for him actual, so long as he is the
fixed will to live, i.e., asserts life with all his power. For
the knowledge that sees through the principium indivi*
duationis, a happy life in time, the gift of chance or won
by prudence, amid the sorrows of innumerable others, ia
only the dream of a beggar in which he is a king, but
from which he must awake and learn from experience
that only a fleeting illusion had separated him from the
suffering of Ins life.

Eternal justice withdraws itself from the vision that is
involved in the knowledge which follows the principle of
sufficient reason in the principium individuationis ; such
vision misses it altogether unless it vindicates it in some
way by fictions. It sees the bad, after misdeeds and
cruelties of every kind, live in happiness and leave the
world unpunished. It sees the oppressed drag out a life
full of suffering to the end without an avenger, a requiter
appearing. But that man only will grasp and comprehend
eternal justice who raises himself above the knowledge
that proceeds under the guidance of the principle of suffi-

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 457

cient reason, bound to the particular thing, and recognises
the Ideas, sees through the principium individuationis,
and becomes conscious that the forms of the phenomenon \
do not apply to the thing-in-itself. Moreover, he alone,
by virtue of the same knowledge, can understand the true
nature of virtue, as it will soon disclose itself to us in con-
nection with the present inquiry, although for the prac-
tice of virtue this knowledge in the abstract is by no
means demanded. Thus it becomes clear to whoever has
attained to the knowledge referred to, that because the
will is the in-itself of all phenomena, the misery which is
awarded to others and that which he experiences himself,
the bad and the evil, always concerns only that one inner
being which is everywhere the same, although the phe-
nomena in which the one and the other exhibits itself
exist as quite different individuals, and are widely
separated by time and space. He sees that the dif-
ference between him who inflicts the suffering and him
who must bear it is only the phenomenon, and does
not concern the thing-in-itself, for this is the will
living in both, which here, deceived by the knowledge
which is bound to its service, does not recognise itself,
and seeking an increased happiness in one of its pheno-
mena, produces great suffering in anotJier, and thus, in
the pressure of excitement, buries its teeth in its own
flesh, not knowing that it always injures only itself, reveal-
ing in this form, through the medium of individuality,
the conflict with itself which it bears in its inner nature.
The inflicter of suffering and the sufferer are one. The
former errs in that he believes he is not a partaker in
the suffering ; the latter, in that he believes he is not a
partaker in the guilt. If the eyes of both were opened,
the inflicter of suffering would see that he lives in all that
suffers pain in the wide world, and which, if endowed with
reason, in vain asks why it was called into existence for
such great suffering, its desert of which it does not under-
stand. And the sufferer would see that all the wicked-

453 THE WORLD AS WILL. DK. IV.

aess which is or ever was committed in the world proceeds
from that will which constitutes his own nature also,
appears also in him, and that through this phenomenon
and its, assertion he has taken upon himself all the suffer-
ings which proceed from such a will and bears them as
his due, so long as he is this will. From this knowledge
speaks the profound poet Calderon in " Life a Dream "

" Pues el delito mayor
Del hombre es haber nacido."

(" For the greatest crime of man
Is that he ever was born.")

Why should it not be a crime, since, according to an
eternal law, death follows upon it ? Calderon has merely
expressed in these lines the Christian dogma of original

sm.

The living knowledge of eternal justice, of the balance
that inseparably binds together the malum culpa with
the malum poena, demands the complete transcending of
individuality and the principle of its possibility. There-
fore it will always remain unattainable to the majority of
men, as will also be the case with the pure and distinct
knowledge of the nature of all virtue, which is akin to it,
and which we are about to explain. Accordingly the
wise ancestors of the Hindu people have directly ex-
pressed it in the Vedas, which are only allowed to the
three regenerate castes, or in their esoteric teaching, so
far at any rate as conception and language comprehend
it, and their method of exposition, which always remains
pictorial and even rhapsodical, admits; but in the re-
ligion of the people, or exoteric teaching, they only
communicate it by means of myths. The direct
exposition we find in the Vedas, the fruit of the
(highest human knowledge and wisdom, the kernel of
winch has at last reached us in the Upanishads as the
fereatest gift of this century. It is expressed in various

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 459

ways, but especially by making all the beings in the
world, living and lifeless, pass successively before the view
of the student, and pronouncing over every one of them
that word which has become a formula, and as such has
been called the Mahavakya : Tatoumes— more correctly,
Tat twam asi— which means, "This thou art."1 But
for the people, that great truth, so far as in their limited
condition they could comprehend it, was translated into
the form of knowledge which follows the principle of
sufficient reason. This form of knowledge is indeed,
from its nature, quite incapable of apprehending that
truth pure and in itself, and even stands in contradiction
to it, yet in the form of a myth it received a substitute
for it which was sufficient as a guide for conduct. For the
myth enables the method of knowledge, in accordance
with the principle of sufficient reason, to comprehend by
figurative representation the ethical significance of con-
duct, which itself is ever foreign to it. This is the aim of
all systems of religion, for as a whole they are the mythi-
cal clothing of the truth which is unattainable to the
uncultured human intellect. In this sense this myth
might, in Kant's language, be called a postulate of the
practical reason ; but regarded as such, it has the great
advantage that it contains absolutely no elements but such
as lie before our eyes in the course of actual experience,
and can therefore support all its conceptions with percep-
tions. What is here referred to is the myth of the trans-
migration of souls. It teaches that all sufferings which
in life one inflicts upon other beings must be expiated in
a subsequent life in this world, through precisely the
same sufferings ; and this extends so far, that he who only
kills a brute must, some time in endless time, be born as
the same kind of brute and suffer the same death. It
teaches that wicked conduct involves a future life in this
world in suffering and despised creatures, and, accord-
ingly, that one will then be born again in lower castes, or as

1 Oupuek'bat, vol. i. p. 60 et seq.

BK. IV.

460 THE WORLD AS WILL.

a woman, or as a brute, as Pariah or Tschandala, as a leper
or as a crocodile, and so forth. All the pains which the myth
threatens it support* with perceptions from actual life
through suffering creatures which do not know how thev
have merited their misery, and it does not require to call
in the .issuance of any other helL As a reward, on the
other hand, it promises re-birth in better, nobler forms
as Brahmans, wise men, or saints. The highest reward!
which awaits the noblest deeds and the completest resi*
nation, winch is also given to the woman who in seven
successive lives has voluntarily died on the funeral pile
of her husband, and not less to the man whose pure mouth
has never uttered a single lie,-this reward the mytl can
only express negatively in the language of this world by

i ° rrr h -is so °ften ^^^ ^ **? ^

never be born again, Non adsutnes iterum exisLiam
Warcnten; or, as the Buddhists, who recognise neithe^

NrvW°r T*' ^^ * "Th0U shalt at^ *
exist— birth, age, sickness, and death

Never has a myth entered, and never will one enter
more closely mto the philosophical truth which is attainable
to so few than tins primitive doctrine of the noblest and

ZTlTtvtioa .Broken up ** this -*» ™» £.

o I' ', 7uh yet reignS M the ^iversal behef
Seti 7ii ^^ th\m°St dedded ^A-nceupon
Wt Tand i>wi7 °USand yearS aga Therefore P^a-

p™u?L T ^ red with admirafcion on ^ ~

SL n F °\T1Cal rePres^tation, received it from
India or Egypt, honoured it, made use of it, and, we know

"nd tL B T b6lred ^ We' °* *e contrary, noT
send the Brahmans English clergymen and evangelical
hnen-weavers to set them right out of sympathy0 and

oui°;"'u .r thCy Me Created 0ut of -«» 5. a"d
ought thankfuUy to rejoice in the fact But it is just

i ?2 Tei • we V a buUet against a *2 2

tndw our rehgmns w,ll never take root The ancient

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 461

wisdom of the human race will not be displaced by what
happened in Galilee. On the contrary, Indian philosophy
streams back to Europe, and will produce a fundamental
change in our knowledge and thought.

§ 64. From our exposition of eternal justice, which is
not mythical but philosophical, we will now proceed to
the kindred investigation of the ethical significance of
conduct and of conscience, which is the merely felt
knowledge of that significance. But first I wish at this
point to draw attention to two peculiarities of human
nature, that might help to make clear how the nature of
that eternal justice, and the unity and identity of the
will in all its phenomena upon which it rests, is known
to every one, at least as an obscure feeling.

When a bad deed has been done, it affords satisfaction
not only to the sufferer, who for the most part feels the
desire of revenge, but also to the perfectly indifferent
spectator, to see that he who caused another pain suffers
himself a like measure of pain ; and this quite indepen-
dently of the end which we have shown the state has
in view in punishment, and which is the foundation of
penal law. It seems to me that what expresses itself
here is nothing but the consciousness of that eternal
justice, which is, nevertheless, at once misunderstood and
falsified by the unenlightened mind, for, involved in the
principium individuationis, it produces an amphiboly of
the concepts and demands from the phenomenon what
only belongs to the thing in itself. It does not see how
far in themselves the offender and the offended are one,
and that it is the same being which, not recognising
itself in its own manifestation, bears both the pain and
the guilt, but it desires rather to see the pain also in the
particular individual to whom the guilt belongs. There-
fore, most persons would demand that a man who had a
very high degree of wickedness which might yet occur
in many others, only not matched with other qualities
such as are found in him. a man who also far surpassed

462 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

others by extraordinary intellectual powers, and who in-
flicted unspeakable sufferings upon millions of others —
for example, as a conqueror, — most persons, I say, would
demand that such a man should at some time and in some
place expiate all these sufferings by a like amount of
pain ; for they do not recognise how in themselves the
inflicter of suffering and the sufferers are one, and that
it is the same will through which the latter exist and
live which also appears in the former, and just through
him attains to a distinct revelation of its nature, and
which likewise suffers both in the oppressed and the
oppressor ; and indeed in the latter in a greater measure,
as the consciousness has attained a higher degree of
clearness and distinctness and the will has greater
vehemence. But that the deeper knowledge, which is
no longer involved in the principium individuationis,
from which all virtue and nobleness proceed, no longer
retains the disposition which demands requital, is shown
by the Christian ethics, which absolutely forbids all
requital of evil with evil, and allows eternal justice to
proceed in the sphere of the thing-in-itself, which is
different from that of the phenomenon. (" Vengeance is
mine ; I will repay, saith the Lord," — Eom. xii 1 9.)

A much more striking, but also a much rarer, charac-
teristic of human nature, which expresses that desire to
draw eternal justice into the province of experience, i.e.t
of individuality, and at the same time indicates a felt con-
sciousness that, as I have expressed it above, the will to live
conducts at its own cost the great tragedy and comedy,
and that the same one will lives in all manifestations, —
such a characteristic, I say, is the following. We some-
times see a man so deeply moved by a great injury which
he has experienced, or, it may be, only witnessed, that he
deliberately and irretrievably stakes his own life in order
to take vengeance on the perpetrator of that wrong. We
see him seek for some mighty oppressor through long
years, murder him at last, and then himself die on the

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 463

scaffold, as lie had foreseen, and often, it may be, did not
seek to avoid, for his life had value for him only as a
means of vengeance. We find examples of this espe-
cially among the Spaniards.1 If, now, we consider the
spirit of that desire for retribution carefully, we find
that it is very different from common revenge, which seeks
to mitigate the suffering, endured by the sight of the
suffering inflicted ; indeed, we find that what it aims at
deserves to be called, not so much revenge as punishment
For in it there really lies the intention of an effect upon
the future through the example, and that without any
selfish aim, either for the avenging person, for it costs
hiTn his life, or for a society which secures its own safety
by laws. For that punishment is carried out by indivi-
duals, not by the state, nor is it in fulfilment of a law, but,
on the contrary, always concerns a deed which the state
either would not or could not punish, and the punishment
of which it condemns. It seems to me that the indigna-
tion which carries such a man so far beyond the limits of
all self-love springs from the deepest consciousness that
he himself is the whole will to live, which appears in all
beings through all time, and that therefore the most distant
future belongs to him just as the present, and cannot be
indifferent to him. Asserting this will, he yet desires that
in the drama which represents its nature no such fearful
wrong shall ever appear again, and wishes to frighten
ever future wrong-doer by the example of a vengeance
against which there is no means of defence, since the
avenger is not deterred by the fear of death. The will
to live, though still asserting itself, does not here depend
any longer upon the particular phenomenon, the individual,
but comprehends the Idea of man, and wishes to keep
its manifestation pure from such a fearful and shocking
wrong. It is a rare, very significant, and even sublime

1 That Spanish bishop who, in the ous incidents in that war. Exam-
last war, poisoned both himself and pies are also to be found in Mon-
the French generals at his own table, taicne. Bk. ii. ch. 1 2.
is an instance of this ; and also vari-

464 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

trait of character through which the individual sacrifices
himself by striving to make himself the arm of eternal
justice, of the true nature of which he is yet ignorant.

§ 65. In all the preceding investigations of human
action, we have been leading up to the final investigation,
and have to a considerable extent lightened the task of
raising to abstract and philosophical clearness, and ex-
hibiting as a branch of our central thought that special
ethical significance of action which in life is with perfect
understanding denoted by the words good and lad.

First, however, I wish to trace back to their real
meaning those conceptions of good and lad which have
been treated by the philosophical writers of the day, very
extraordinarily, as simple conceptions, and thus incapable
of analysis ; so that the reader may not remain involved
in the senseless delusion that they contain more than is
actually the case, and express in and for themselves all
that is here necessary. I am in a position to do this
because in ethics I am no more disposed to take refuge
behind the word good than formerly behind the words
beautiful and true, in order that by the adding a " ness,"
which at the present day is supposed to have a special
trefivoTT)!, and therefore to be of assistance in various
cases, and by assuming an air of solemnity, I might
induce the belief that by uttering three such words I
had done more than denote three very wide and abstract,
and consequently empty conceptions, of very different
origin and significance. Who is there, indeed, who has
made himself acquainted with the books of our own day
to whom these three words, admirable as are the things
to which they originally refer, have not become an aver-
sion after he has seen for the thousandth time how those
who are least capable of thinking believe that they have
only to utter these three words with open mouth and the
air of an intelligent sheep, in order to have spoken the
greatest wisdom ?

The explanation of the concept true has already been

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 465

given in the essay on the principle of sufficient reason,
chap. v. § 29 et scq. The content of the concept beautiful
found for the first time its proper explanation through
the whole of the Third Book of the present work. We
now wish to discover the significance of the concept good,
which can be done with very little trouble. This con-
cept is essentially relative, and signifies the conformity of
an object to any definite effort of the will. Accordingly
everything that corresponds to the will in any of its
expressions and fulfils its end is thought through the
concept good, however different such things may be in
other respects. Thus we speak of good eating, good
roads, good weather, good weapons, good omens, and so
on ; in short, we call everything good that is just as we
wish it to be ; and therefore that may be good in the
eyes of one man which is just the reverse in those of
another. The conception of the good divides itself into
two sub-species — that of the direct and present satisfaction
of any volition, and that of its indirect satisfaction which
has reference to the future, i.e., the agreeable and the
useful. The conception of the opposite, so long as we
are speaking of unconscious existence, is expressed by the
word bad, more rarely and abstractly by the word evil,
which thus denotes everything that does not correspond
to any effort of the will. Like all other things that can
come into relation to the will, men who are favourable to
the ends which happen to be desired, who further and
befriend them, are called good, in the same sense, and
always with that relative limitation, which shows itself,
for example, in the expression, " I find this good, but
you don't." Those, however, who are naturally disposed
not to hinder the endeavours of others, but rather to
assist them, and who are thus consistently helpful, bene-
volent, friendly, and charitable, are called good men,
on account of this relation of their conduct to the will of
others in general. In the case of conscious beings (brutes
and men) the contrary conception is denoted in German,
vol. 1- 2 G

466 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

and, within the last hundred years or so, in French also,
by a different word from that which is used in speaking
of unconscious existence; in German, hose; in French,
mediant; while in almost all other languages this dis-
tinction does not exist; and /catco?, malus, cattivo, bad,
are used of men, as of lifeless things, which are opposed
to the ends of a definite individual will Thus, having
started entirely from the passive element in the good, the
inquiry could only proceed later to the active element,
and investigate the conduct of the man who is called
good, no longer with reference to others, but to himself ;
specially setting itself the task of explaining both the
purely objective respect which such conduct produces in
others, and the peculiar contentment with himself which
it clearly produces in the man himself, sinoe he purchases
it with sacrifices of another kind ; and also, on the other
hand, the inner pain which accompanies the bad disposi-
tion, whatever outward advantages it brings to him who
entertains it. It was from this source that the ethical
systems, both the philosophical and those which are sup-
ported by systems of religion, took their rise. Both seek
constantly in some way or other to connect happiness
with virtue, the former either by means of the principle
of contradiction or that of sufficient reason, and thus to
make happiness either identical with or the consequence
of virtue, always sophistically ; the latter, by asserting
the existence of other worlds than that which alone can
be known to experience.1 In our system, on the con-

^ x Observe, in passing, that what cal significance of action cannot be

gives every positive system of reli- explained in accordance with the

gion its great strength, the point of principle of sufficient reason, yet

contact through which it takes pos- since every mythus follows this prin-

session of the soul, is entirely its ciple, believers regard the ethical

ethical side. Not, however, the ethi- significance of action as quite inse-

cal side directly as such, but as it parable, and indeed as absolutely

appears firmly united and inter- identical, and regard every attack

woven with the element of mythical upon the mythus as an attack upon

dogma which is present in every right and virtue. This goes so far

system of religion, and as intelligible that among monotheistic nations

only by means of this. So much is atheism or godlessness has become

this the case, that although the ethi- synonymous with the absence of all

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 467

trary, virtue will show itself, not as a striving after hap-
piness, that is, well-being and life, but as an effort in
quite an opposite direction.

It follows from what has been said above, that the good
is, according to its concept, rcov 7r/>o)? rt ; thus every good is
essentially relative, for its being consists in its relation
to a desiring will. Absolute good is, therefore, a contra-
diction in terms ; highest good, summum bonum, really
signifies the same thing — a final satisfaction of the will,
after which no new desire could arise, — a last motive, the
attainment of which would afford enduring satisfaction of
the wilL But, according to the investigations which
have already been conducted in this Fourth Book, such a
consummation is not even thinkable. The will can just
as little cease from willing altogether on account of some
particular satisfaction, as time can end or begin ; for it
there is no such thing as a permanent fulfilment which
shall completely and for ever satisfy its craving. It is
the vessel of the Danaides; for it there is no highest
good, no absolute good, but always a merely temporary
good. If, however, we wish to give an honorary position,
as it were emeritus, to an old expression, which from
custom we do not like to discard altogether, we may,
metaphorically and figuratively, call the complete self-
effacement and denial of the will, the true absence of will,
which alone for ever stills and silences its struggle, alone
gives that contentment which can never again be dis-
turbed, alone redeems the world, and which we shall now
soon consider at the close of our whole investigation — the

morality. To the priests such con- in their history), which, according

fusions of conceptions are welcome, to the latest and most authentic

and only in consequence of them accounts, in Madrid alone (in the

could that horrible monstrosity fana- rest of Spain there were many more

ticism arise and govern, not merely such ecclesiastical dens of mur-

single individuals who happen to be derers) in 300 years put 300,000

specially perverse and bad, but whole human beings to a painful death at

nations, and finally embody itself in the stake on theological grounds — a

the Western world as the Inquisi- fact of which every zealot ought to

tion (to the honour of mankind be it be reminded whenever he begins to

Baid that this only happened once make himself heard.

468 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv

absolute good, the summum bonum — and regard it as the
only radical cure of the disease of which all other means
are only palliations or anodynes. In this sense the Greek
rckos and also finis bonorum correspond to the thing still
better. So much for the words good and bad ; now for
the thing itself.

If a man is always disposed to do wrong whenever
the opportunity presents itself, and there is no external
power to restrain him, we call him bad. According to
our doctrine of wrong, this means that such a man does
not merely assert the will to live as it appears in liis
own body, but in this assertion goes so far that he
denies the will which appears in other individuals. This
is shown by the fact that he desires their powers for the
service of his own will, and seeks to destroy their ex-
istence when they stand in the way of its efforts. The
ultimate source of this is a high degree of egoism, the
nature of which has been already explained. Two
things are here apparent. In the first place, that in
such a man an excessively vehement will to live ex-
presses itself, extending far beyond the assertion of his
own body ; and, in the second place, that his knowledge,
entirely given up to the principle of sufficient reason
and involved in the principium individuationis, cannot
get beyond the difference which this latter principle
establishes between his own person and every one else.
Therefore he seeks his own well-being alone, completely
indifferent to that of all others, whose existence is to
him altogether foreign and divided from his own by a
wide gulf, and who are indeed regarded by him as
mere masks with no reality behind them. And these
two qualities are the constituent elements of the bad
character.

This great intensity of will is in itself and directly
a constant source of suffering. In the first place,
because all volition as such arises from want ; that is,
suffering. (Therefore, as will be remembered, from the

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 469

Third Book, the momentary cessation of all volition,
which takes place whenever we give ourselves up to
aesthetic contemplation, as pure will-less subject of
knowledge, the correlative of the Idea, is one of the
principal elements in our pleasure in the beautiful.)
Secondly, because, through the causal connection of
things, most of our desires must remain unfulfilled, and
the will is oftener crossed than satisfied, and therefore
much intense volition carries with it much intense
suffering. For all suffering is simply unfulfilled and
crossed volition ; and even the pain of the body when
it is injured or destroyed is as such only possible
through the fact that the body is nothing but the will
itself become object. Now on this account, because much
intense suffering is inseparable from much intense voli-
tion, very bad men bear the stamp of inward suffering in
the very expression of the countenance ; even when they
have attained every external happiness, they always look
unhappy so long as they are not transported by some
momentary ecstasy and are not dissembling. From this
inward torment, which is absolutely and directly essential
to them, there finally proceeds that delight in the suffer-
ing of others which does not spring from mere egoism,
but is disinterested, and which constitutes wickedness
proper, rising to the pitch of cruelty. For this the suffer-
ing of others is not a means for the attainment of the
ends of its own will, but an end in itself. The more
definite explanation of this phenomenon is as follows : —
Since man is a manifestation of will illuminated by the
clearest knowledge, he is always contrasting the actual
and felt satisfaction of his will with the merely possible
satisfaction of it which knowledge presents to him.
Hence arises envy : every privation is infinitely increased
by the enjoyment of others, and relieved by the know-
ledge that others also suffer the same privation. Those
ills which are common to all and inseparable from human
life trouble us little, just as those which belong to the

470 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

climate, to the whole country. The recollection of greater
sufferings than our own stills our pain ; the sight of the
sufferings of others soothes our own. If, now, a man
is filled with an exceptionally intense pressure of will, —
if with burning eagerness he seeks to accumulate every-
thing to slake the thirst of his egoism, and thus experi-
ences, as he inevitably must, that all satisfaction is merely
apparent, that the attained end never fulfils the promise
of the desired object, the final appeasing of the fierce
pressure of will, but that when fulfilled the wisli only
changes its form, and now torments him in a new one ;
and indeed that if at last all wishes are exhausted,
the pressure of will itself remains without any conscious
motive, and makes itself known to him with fearful
pain as a feeling of terrible desolation and emptiness;
if from all this, which in the case of the ordinary
degrees of volition is only felt in a small measure, and
only produces the ordinary degree of melancholy, in the
case of him who is a manifestation of will reaching
the point of extraordinary wickedness, there necessarily
springs an excessive inward misery, an eternal unrest,
an incurable pain ; he seeks indirectly the alleviation
which directly is denied him, — seeks to mitigate his
own suffering by the sight of the suffering of others,
which at the same time he recognises as an expres-
sion of his power. The suffering of others now becomes
for him an end in itself, and is a spectacle in which
he delights ; and thus arises the phenomenon of pure
cruelty, blood-thirstiness, which history exhibits so often
in the Neros and Domitians, in the African Deis, in
Eobespierre, and the like.

The desire of revenge is closely related to wickedness.
It recompenses evil with evil, not with reference to the
future, which is the character of punishment, but merely
on account of what has happened, what is past, as such,
thus disinterestedly, not as a means, but as an end, in order
to revel in the torment which the avenger himself has

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 471

inflicted on the offender. What distinguishes revenge
from pure wickedness, and to some extent excuses it, is
an appearance of justice. For if the same act, which is
now revenge, were to be done legally, that is, according
to a previously determined and known rule, and in a
society which had sanctioned this rule, it would be
punishment, and thus justice.

Besides the suffering which has been described, and
which is inseparable from wickedness, because it springs
from the same root, excessive vehemence of will, another
specific pain quite different from this is connected with
wickedness, which is felt in the case of every bad action,
whether it be merely injustice proceeding from egoism
or pure wickedness, and according to the length of its
duration is called the sting of conscience or remorse. Now,
whoever remembers and has present in his mind the
content of the preceding portion of this Fourth Book, and
especially the truth explained at the beginning of it, that
life itself is always assured to the will to live, as its mere
copy or mirror, and also the exposition of eternal justice,
will find that the sting of conscience can have no other
meaning than the following, i.e.} its content, abstractly
expressed, is what follows, in which two parts are dis-
tinguished, which again, however, entirely coincide, and
must be thought as completely united.

However closely the veil of Maya may envelop the
mind of the bad man, i.e., however firmly he may be
involved in the principium individuations, according to
which he regards his person as absolutely different and
separated by a wide gulf from all others, a knowledge to
which he clings with all his might, as it alone suits and
supports his egoism, so that knowledge is almost always
corrupted by will, yet there arises in the inmost depths
of his consciousness the secret presentiment that such
an order of things is only phenomenal, and that their
real constitution is quite different. He has a dim fore-
boding that, however much time and space may separate

<f

m THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

him from other individuals and the innumerable miseries
which they suffer, and even suffer through him, and may
represent them as quite foreign to him, yet in them-
selves, and apart from the idea and its forms, it is the
one will to live appearing in them all, which here failing
to recognise itself, turns its weapons against itself, and,
by seeking increased happiness in one of its phenomena,
imposes the greatest suffering upon another. He dimly
sees that he, the bad man, is himself this whole will ;
that consequently he is not only the inflicter of pain
but also the endurer of it, from whose suffering he
is only separated and exempted by an illusive dream,
the form of which is space and time, which, however,
vanishes away ; that he must in reality pay for the plea-
sure with the pain, and that all suffering which he only
knows as possible really concerns him as the will to live,
inasmuch as the possible and actual, the near and the
distant in time and space, are only different for the
knowledge of the individual, only by means of the
principium individuationis, not in themselves. This is
the truth which mythically, i.e., adapted to the principle
of sufficient reason, and so translated into the form of
the phenomenal, is expressed in the transmigration of
souls. Yet it has its purest expression, free from all
foreign admixture, in that obscurely felt yet inconsolable
misery called remorse. But this springs also from a
second immediate knowledge, which is closely bound to
the first— the knowledge of the strength with which the
will to live asserts itself in the wicked individual, which
extends far beyond his own individual phenomenon, to
the absolute denial of the same will appearing in other
individuals. Consequently the inward horror of the
wicked man at his own deed, which he himself tries
to conceal, contains, besides that presentment of the
nothingness, the mere illusiveness of the principium
individuationis, and of the distinction established by it
between him and others; also the knowledge of the

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 473

velienience of his own will, the intensity with which
he has seized upon life and attached himself closely to
it, even that life whose terrible side he sees before
him in the misery of those who are oppressed by him,
and with which he is yet so firmly united, that just on
this account the greatest atrocity proceeds from him him-
self, as a means for the fuller assertion of his own will.
He recognises himself as the concentrated manifestation
of the will to live, feels to what degree he is given up to
life, and with it also to innumerable sufferings which
are essential to it, for it has infinite time and infinite
space to abolish the distinction between the possible and
the actual, and to change all the sufferings which as yet
are merely known to him into sufferings he has experi-
enced. The millions of years of constant rebirth cer-
tainly exist, like the whole past and future, only in
conception ; occupied time, the form of the phenomenon
of the will, is only the present, and for the individual
time is ever new : it seems to him always as if he had
newly come into being. For life is inseparable from the
will to live, and the only form of life is the present.
Death (the repetition of the comparison must be excused)
is like the setting of the sun, which is only apparently
swallowed up by the night, but in reality, itself the
source of all light, burns without intermission, brings
new days to new worlds, is always rising and always
setting. Beginning and end only concern the indi-
vidual through time, the form of the phenomenon for the
idea. Outside time lies only the will, Kant's thing-in-
itself, and its adequate objectification, the Idea of Plato.
Therefore suicide affords no escape ; what every one in
his inmost consciousness wills, that must he he ; and what
every one is, that he wills. Thus, besides the merely felt
knowledge of the illusiveness and nothingness of the
forms of the idea which separate individuals, it is the
self-knowledge of one's own will and its degree that
gives the sting to conscience. The course of life draws

474 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

the image of the empirical character, whose original is
the intelligible character, and horrifies the wicked man
by this image. He is horrified all the same whether the
image is depicted in large characters, so that the world
shares his horror, or in such small ones that he alone
sees it, for it only concerns him directly. The past
would be a matter of indifference, and could not pain the
conscience if the character did not feel itself free from
all time and unalterable by it, so long as it does not deny
itself. Therefore things which are long past still weigh
on the conscience. The prayer, "Lead me not into
temptation," means, "Let me not see what manner of
person I am." In the might with which the bad man
asserts life, and which exhibits itself to him in the
sufferings which he inflicts on others, he measures how
far he is from the surrender and denial of that will, the
only possible deliverance from the world and its miseries.
He sees how far he belongs to it, and how firmly he is
bound to it ; the known suffering of others has no power
to move him ; he is given up to life and felt suffering.
It remains hidden whether this will ever break and
overcome the vehemence of his will.

This exposition of the significance and inner nature of
the bad, which as mere feeling, i.e., not as distinct, ab-
stract knowledge, is the content of remorse, will gain dis-
tinctness and completeness by the similar consideration of
the good as a quality of human will, and finally of abso-
lute resignation and holiness, which proceeds from it when
it has attained its highest grade. For opposites always
throw light upon each other, and the day at once reveals
both itself and the night, as Spinoza admirably remarks.

§ 66. A theory of morals without proof, that is, mere
moralising, can effect nothing, because it does not act as
a motive. A theory of morals which does act as a
motive can do so only by working on self-love. But
what springs from this source has no moral worth. It
follows from this that no genuine virtue can be produced

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 475

through moral theory or abstract knowledge in general,
but that such virtue must spring from that intuitive
knowledge which recognises in the individuality of others
the same nature as in our own.

For virtue certainly proceeds from knowledge, but not
from the abstract knowledge that can be communicated
through words. If it were so, virtue could be taught,
and by here expressing in abstract language its nature
and the knowledge which lies at its foundation, we should
make every one who comprehends this even ethically
better. But this is by no means the case. On the con-
trary, ethical discourses and preaching will just as little
produce a virtuous man as all the systems of aesthetics
from Aristotle downwards have succeeded in producing a
poet For the real inner nature of virtue the concept is
unfruitful, just as it is in art, and it is only in a com-
pletely subordinate position that it can be of use as a
tool in the elaboration and preserving of what has been
ascertained and inferred by other means. Telle non dis~
citur. Abstract dogmas are, in fact, without influence
upon virtue, ie., upon the goodness of the disposition.
False dogmas do not disturb it ; true ones will scarcely
assist it It would, in fact, be a bad look-out if the
cardinal fact in the life of man, his ethical worth, that
worth which counts for eternity, were dependent upon
anything the attainment of which is so much a matter of
chance as is the case with dogmas, religious doctrines,
and philosophical theories. For morality dogmas have
this value only : The man who has become virtuous from
knowledge of another kind, which is presently to be con-
sidered, possesses in them a scheme or formula according
to which he accounts to his own reason, for the most part
fictitiously, for his non-egoistical action, the nature of
which it, i.e., he himself, does not comprehend, and with
which account he has accustomed it to be content.

Upon conduct, outward action, dogmas may certainly
exercise a powerful influence, as also custom and example

476 THE WORLD AS WILL. RK. iv.

(the last because the ordinary man does not trust his
judgment, of the weakness of which he is conscious, but
only follows his own or some one else's experience), but
the disposition is not altered in this way.1 All abstract
knowledge gives only motives ; but, as was shown above,
motives can only alter the direction of the will, not the
will itself. All communicable knowledge, however, can
only affect the will as a motive. Thus when dogmas lead
it, what the mau really and in general wills remains still
the same. He has only received different thoughts as to the
ways in which it is to be attained, and imaginary motives
guide him just like real ones. Therefore, for example,
it is all one, as regards his ethical worth, whether he
gives large gifts to the poor, firmly persuaded that he will
receive everything tenfold in a future life, or expends the
same sum on the improvement of an estate which will
yield interest, certainly late, but all the more surely and
largely. And he who for the sake of orthodoxy commits
the heretic to the flames is as much a murderer as the
bandit who does it for gain; and indeed, as regards
inward circumstances, so also was he who slaughtered the
Turks in the Holy Land, if, like the burner of heretics, he
really did so because he thought that he would thereby
gain a place in heaven. For these are careful only for
themselves, for their own egoism, just like the bandit,
from whom they are only distinguished by the absurdity
of their means. From without, as has been said, the
will can only be reached through motives, and these only
alter the way in which it expresses itself, never the will
itself. Telle non discitur.

In the case of good deeds, however, the doer of which
appeals to dogmas, we must always distinguish whether
these dogmas really are the motives which lead to the
good deeds, or whether, as was said above, they are

1 The Church would say that these which leads to the new birth. But
are n>erely opera operata, which do of this farther on.
not avail unless grace gives the faith

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 477

merely the illusive account of them with which he seeks
to satisfy his own reason with regard to a good deed
which really flows from quite a different source, a deed
which he does because he is good, though he does not
understand how to explain it rightly, and yet wishes to
think something with regard to it. But this distinction
is very hard to make, because it lies in the heart of a
man. Therefore we can scarcely ever pass a correct
moral judgment on the action of others, and very seldom
on our own. The deeds and conduct of an individual
and of a nation may be very much modified through
dogmas, example, and custom. But in themselves all
deeds (opera operetta) are merely empty forms, and only
the disposition which leads to them gives them moral
significance. This disposition, however, may be quite the
same when its outward manifestation is very different.
With an equal degree of wickedness, one man may die on
the wheel, and another in the bosom of his family. It
may be the same grade of wickedness which expresses
itself in one nation in the coarse characteristics of mur-
der and cannibalism, and in another finely and softly in
miniature, in court intrigues, oppressions, and delicate
plots of every kind ; the inner nature remains the same.
It is conceivable that a perfect state, or perhaps indeed
a complete and firmly believed doctrine of rewards and
punishments after death, might prevent every crime;
politically much would be gained thereby; morally,
nothing ; only the expression of the will in life would
be restricted.

Thus genuine goodness of disposition, disinterested
virtue, and pure nobility do not proceed from abstract
knowledge. Yet they do proceed from knowledge ; but
it is a direct intuitive knowledge, which can neither
be reasoned away, nor arrived at by reasoning, a know-
ledge which, just because it is not abstract, cannot be
communicated, but must arise in each for himself, which
therefore finds its real and adequate expression not in

478 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. rv.

words, but only in deeds, in conduct, in the course of the
life of man. We who here seek the theory of virtue,
and have therefore also to express abstractly the nature
of the knowledge which lies at its foundation, will yet be
unable to convey that knowledge itself in this expression.
We can only give the concept of this knowledge, and
thus always start from action in which alone it becomes
visible, and refer to action as its only adequate expres-
sion. We can only explain and interpret action, i.e.t
express abstractly what really takes place in it

Before we speak of the good proper, in opposition to
the bad, which has been explained, we must touch on
an intermediate grade, the mere negation of the bad:
this is justice. The nature of right and wrong has been
fully explained above ; therefore we may briefly say here,
that he who voluntarily recognises and observes those
merely moral limits between wrong and right, even where
this is not secured by the state or any other external
power, thus he who, according to our explanation, never
carries the assertion of his own will so far as to deny
the will appearing in another individual, is just. Thus,
in order to increase his own well-being, he will not inflict
suffering upon others, ie., he will commit no crime, he
will respect the rights and the property of others. We
see that for such a just man the principium individua-
tionis is no longer, as in the case of the bad man, an abso-
lute wall of partition. We see that he does not, like the
bad man, merely assert his own manifestation of will and
deny all others ; that other persons are not for him mere
masks, whose nature is quite different from his own ; but
he shows in his conduct that he also recognises his own
nature — the will to live as a thing-in-itself, in the foreign
manifestation which is only given to him as idea. Thus he
finds himself again in that other manifestation, up to a
certain point, that of doing no wrong, i.e., abstaining from
injury. To this extent, therefore, he sees through the
principium individuationis, the veil of Maya ; so far he

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 479

sets the being external to him on a level with his own —
he does it no injury.

If we examine the inmost nature of this justice, there
already lies in it the resolution not to go so far in
the assertion of one's own will as to deny the mani-
festations of will of others, by compelling them to
serve one's own. One will therefore wish to render
to others as much as one receives from them. The
highest degree of this justice of disposition, which is,
however, always united with goodness proper, whose
character is no longer merely negative, extends so far
that a man doubts his right to inherited property, wishes
to support his body only by his own powers, mental and
physical, feels every service of others and every luxury a
reproach, and finally embraces voluntary poverty. Thus
we see how Pascal, when he became an ascetic, would no
longer permit any services to be rendered him, although he
had servants enough ; in spite of his constant bad health
he made his bed himself, brought his own food from
the kitchen, &c. ("Vie de Pascal, par sa Sceur," p. 19).
Quite in keeping with this, it is reported that many
Hindus, even Rajas with great wealth, expend it merely
on the maintenance of their position, their court and
attendants, and themselves observe with the greatest
scrupulousness the maxim that a man should eat nothing
that he has not himself both sowed and reaped. Yet a
certain misunderstanding lies at the bottom of this ; for
one man, just because he is rich and powerful, can render
such signal services to the whole of human society that
they counterbalance the wealth he has inherited, for the
secure possession of which he is indebted to society. In
reality that excessive justice of such Hindus is already
more than justice ; it is actual renunciation, denial of the
will to live, — asceticism, of which we shall speak last.
On the other hand, pure idleness and living through the
exertions of others, in the case of inherited wealth, with-
out accomplishing anything, may be regarded as morally

4&> THE WORLD AS WILL. BK. iv.

wrong, even if it must remain right according to positive
laws.

We have found that voluntary justice has its inmost
source in a certain degree of penetration of the principium
individuationis, while the unjust remain entirely involved
in this principle. This penetration may exist not only
in the degree which is required for justice, but also in
the higher degree which leads to benevolence and well-
doing, to love of mankind. And this may take place
however strong and energetic in itself the will which
appears in such an individual may be. Knowledge can
always counterbalance it in him, teach him to resist the
tendency to wrong, and even produce in him every
degree of goodness, and indeed of resignation. Thus the
good man is by no means to be regarded as originally a
weaker manifestation of will than the bad man, but it is
knowledge which in him masters the blind striving of
will. There are certainly individuals who merely seem
to have a good disposition on account of the weakness of
the will appearing in them, but what they are soon
appears from the fact that they are not capable of any
remarkable self-conquest in order to perform a just or
good deed.

If, however, as a rare exception, we meet a man who
possesses a considerable income, but uses very little of it
for himself and gives all the rest to the poor, while he
denies himself many pleasures and comforts, and we seek
to explain the action of this man, we shall find, apart
altogether from the dogmas through which he tries to
inake his action intelligible to his reason, that the sirn-
plest general expression and the essential character of his
conduct is that he makes less distinction than is usually
made between himself and others. This distinction is so
great in the eyes of many that the suffering of others
is a direct pleasure to the wicked and a welcome means
of happiness to the unjust. The merely just man
is content not to cause it; and, in general, most men

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 481

know and are acquainted with innumerable sufferings of
others in their vicinity, but do not determine to mitigate
them, because to do so would involve some self-denial on
their part. Thus, in each of all these a strong distinction
seems to prevail between his own ego and that of others ;
on the other hand, to the noble man we have imagined, this
distinction is not so significant. The principium indivi-
duationis, the form of the phenomenon, no longer holds him
so tightly in its grasp, but the suffering which he sees in
others touches him almost as closely as his own. He there-
fore tries to strike a balance between them, denies himself
pleasures, practises renunciation, in order to mitigate the
sufferings of others. He sees that the distinction between
himself and others, which to the bad man is so great a
gulf, only belongs to a fleeting and illusive phenomenon.
He recognises directly and without reasoning that the
in-itself of his own manifestation is also that of others,
the will to live, which constitutes the inner nature of
everything and lives in all ; indeed, that this applies also
to the brutes and the whole of nature, and therefore he
will not cause suffering even to a brute.1

He is now just as little likely to allow others to starve,
while he himself has enough and to spare, as any one
would be to suffer hunger one day in order to have more
the next day than he could enjoy. For to him who does
works of love the veil of Maya has become transparent,

1 The right of man over the life at once determines the extent of the
and powers of the brutes rests on use man may make of the powers
the fact that, because with the of the brutes without wrong; a
growing clearness of consciousness limit, however, which is often trans-
suffering increases in like measure ; gressed, especially in the case of
the pain which the brute suffers beasts of burden and dogs used in
through death or work is not so the chase ; to which the activity
great as man would suffer by merely of societies for the prevention of
denying himself the flesh, or the cruelty to animals is principally de-
powers of the brutes. Therefore voted. In my opinion, that right
man may carry the assertion of his does not extend to vivisection, par-
existence to the extent of denying ticularly of the higher animals. On
the existence of the brute, and the the other hand, the insect does not
will to live as a whole endures less suffer so much through its death as
suffering in this way than if the a man suffers from its sting. The
opposite course were adopted. This Hindus do not understand this.

VOL. I. 2 H

482 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv

the illusion of the principium individuationis has left
him. He recognises himself, his will, in every being,
and consequently also in the sufferer. He is now
free from the perversity with which the will to live, not
recognising itself, here in one individual enjoys a fleeting
and precarious pleasure, and there in another pays for it
with suffering and starvation, and thus both inflicts and
endures misery, not knowing that, like Thyestes, it eagerly
devours its own flesh; and then, on the one hand,
laments its undeserved suffering, and on the other hand
transgresses without fear of Nemesis, always merely be-
cause, involved in the principium individuationis, thus
generally in the kind of knowledge which is governed
by the principle of sufficient reason, it does not recognise
itself in the foreign phenomenon, and therefore does not
perceive eternal justice. To be cured of this illusion
and deception of Maya, and to do works of love, are one
and the same. But the latter is the necessary and
inevitable symptom of that knowledge.

The opposite of the sting of conscience, the origin and
significance of which is explained above, is the good
conscience, the satisfaction which we experience after
every disinterested deed. It arises from the fact that
such a deed, as it proceeds from the direct recognition
of our own inner being in the phenomenon of another,
affords us also the verification of this knowledge, the
knowledge that our true self exists not only in our
own person, this particular manifestation, but in every-
thing that lives. By this the heart feels itself enlarged,
as by egoism it is contracted. For as the latter
concentrates our interest upon the particular mani-
festation of our own individuality, upon which know-
ledge always presents to us the innumerable dangers
which constantly threaten this manifestation, and anxiety
and care becomes the key-note of our disposition;
the knowledge that everything living is just as much our
own inner nature, as is our own person, extends our

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 483

interest to everything living ; and in this way the heart
is enlarged. Thus through the diminished interest in
our own self, the anxious care for the self is attacked at
its very root and limited ; hence the peace, the unbroken
serenity, which a virtuous disposition and a good con-
science affords, and the more distinct appearance of this
with every good deed, for it proves to ourselves the depth
of that disposition. The egoist feels himself surrounded
by strange and hostile individuals, and all his hope is
centred in his own good. The good man lives in a world
of friendly individuals, the well-being of any of whom he
regards as his own. Therefore, although the knowledge
of the lot of mankind generally does not make his dis-
position a joyful one, yet the permanent knowledge of his
own nature in all living beings, gives him a certain even-
ness, and even serenity of disposition. For the interest
which is extended to innumerable manifestations cannot
cause such anxiety as that which is concentrated upon
one. The accidents which concern individuals collec-
tively, equalise themselves, while those which happen to
the particular individual constitute good or bad fortune.

Thus, though others have set up moral principles
which they give out as prescriptions for virtue, and laws
which it was necessary to follow, I, as has already been
said, cannot do this because I have no " ought " or law to
prescribe to the eternally free-will. Yet on the other
hand, in the connection of my system, what to a certain
extent corresponds and is analogous to that undertaking
is the purely theoretical truth, of which my whole ex-
position may be regarded as merely an elaboration,
that the will is the in-itself of every phenomenon but
itself, as such, is free from the forms of the phenomenal,
and consequently from multiplicity ; a truth, which, with
reference to action, I do not know how to express better
than by the formula of the Vedas already quoted: "Tat
twam asi!" (This thou art!) Whoever is able to say
this to himself, with regard to every being with whom

484 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv,

he coines in contact, with clear knowledge and firm
inward conviction, is certain of all virtue and blessedness,
and is on the direct road to salvation.

But before I go further, and, as the conclusion of my
exposition, show how love, the origin and nature of which
we recognised as the penetration of the principium indi-
viduationis, leads to salvation, to the entire surrender of
the will to live, i.e., of all volition, and also how another
path, less soft but more frequented, leads men to the
same goal, a paradoxical proposition must first be stated
and explained ; not because it is paradoxical, but because
it is true, and is necessary to the completeness of the
thought I have present. It is this : " All love (aya7rrjf
caritas) is sympathy."

§ 67. We have seen how justice proceeds from the
penetration of the principium individuationis in a less
degree, and how from its penetration in a higher degree
there arises goodness of disposition proper, which shows
itself as pure, i.e., disinterested love towards others.
When now the latter becomes perfect, it places other
individuals and their fate completely on a level with
itself and its own fate. Further than this it cannot go,
for there exists no reason for preferring the individuality
of another to its own. Yet the number of other indivi-
duals whose whole happiness or life is in danger may
outweigh the regard for one's own particular well-being.
In such a case, the character that has attained to the
highest goodness and perfect nobility will entirely sacri-
fice its own well-being, and even its life, for the well-
being of many others. So died Codrus, and Leonidas,
and Kegulus, and Decius Mus, and Arnold von Winkel-
ried ; so dies every one who voluntarily and consciously
faces certain death for his friends or his country. And
they also stand on the same level who voluntarily submit
to suffering and death for maintaining what conduces and
rightly belongs to the welfare of all mankind ; that is,
for maintaining universal and important truths and

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 485

destroying great errors. So died Socrates and Giordano i
Bruno, and so many a hero of the truth suffered death
at the stake at the hands of the priests.

Now, however, I must remind the reader, with reference
to the paradox stated above, that we found before that
suffering is essential to life as a whole, and inseparable
from it. And that we saw that every wish proceeds
from a need, from a want, from suffering, and that there-
fore every satisfaction is only the removal of a pain, and
brings no positive happiness ; that the joys certainly lie
to the wish, presenting themselves as a positive good,
but in truth they have only a negative nature, and are
only the end of an evil. Therefore what goodness, love, /
and nobleness do for others, is always merely an allevia- \
tion of their suffering, and consequently all that can
influence them to good deeds and works of love, is
simply the knowledge of the suffering of others, which is
directly understood from their own suffering and placed
on a level with it But it follows from this that pure
love (aycnrr}, caritas) is in its nature sympathy ; whether
the suffering it mitigates, to which every unsatisfied
wish belongs, be great or small. Therefore we shall
have no hesitation, in direct contradiction to Kant, who
will only recognise all true goodness and all virtue to
be such, if it has proceeded from abstract reflection, and
indeed from the conception of duty and of the categorical
imperative, and explains felt sympathy as weakness, and
by no means virtue, we shall have no hesitation, I say,
in direct contradiction to Kant, in saying: the mere
concept is for genuine virtue just as unfruitful as it is
for genuine art : all true and pure love is sympathy, and
all love which is not sympathy is selfishness. E^oco? is
selfishness, ayairri is sympathy. Combinations of the
two frequently occur. Indeed genuine friendship is
always a mixture of selfishness and sympathy; the
former lies in the pleasure experienced in the presence
of the friend, whose individuality corresponds to our

486 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. IV.

own, and this almost always constitutes the greatest
part ; sympathy shows itself in the sincere participation
in his joy and grief, and the disinterested sacrifices made
in respect of the latter. Thus Spinoza says : Bcnevolcntia
nihil aliud est, quam cupiditas ex commiseratione orta
(Eth. iii. pr. 27, cor. 3, schoL) As a confirmation of our
paradoxical proposition it may be observed that the
tone and words of the language and caresses of pure
love, entirely coincide with the tones of sympathy ; and
we may also remark in passing that in Italian sympathy
and true love are denoted by the same word pieta.

This is also the place to explain one of the most
striking peculiarities of human nature, weeping, which,
like laughter, belongs to those qualities which distinguish
man from the brutes. Weeping is by no means a direct
expression of pain, for it occurs where there is very little
pain. In my opinion, indeed, we never weep directly
on account of the pain we experience, but always merely
on account of its repetition in reflection. We pass from
the felt pain, even when it is physical, to a mere idea of
it, and then find our own state so deserving of sympathy
that we are firmly and sincerely convinced that if another
were the sufferer, we would be full of sympathy, and love
to relieve him. But now we ourselves are the object of
our own sympathy ; with the most benevolent disposi-
tion we are ourselves most in need of help ; we feel that
we suffer more than we could see another suffer; and in
this very complex frame of mind, in which the directly
felt suffering only comes to perception by a doubly
circuitous route, imagined as the suffering of another,
sympathised with as such, and then suddenly perceived
again as directly our own, — in this complex frame of
mind, I say, Nature relieves itself through that remark-
able physical conflict. Weeping is accordingly sympathy
with our own selves, or sympathy directed back on its
source. It is therefore conditional upon the capacity for
love and sympathy, and also upon imagination. Therefore

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 487

men who are either hard-hearted or unimaginative do not
weep easily, and weeping is even always regarded as a
sign of a certain degree of goodness of character, and
disarms anger, because it is felt that whoever can still
weep, must necessarily always be capable of love, i.e.,
sympathy towards others, for this enters in the manner
described into the disposition that leads to weeping. The
description which Petrarch gives of the rising of his own
tears, naively and truly expressing his feeling, entirely
agrees with the explanation we have given —

" I vo pensando : e nel pensar m' assale
Una pieta si forte di me stesso,
Che mi conduce spesso,
Ad alto lagrimar, ch'i non soleva."1

What has been said is also confirmed by the fact that
children who have been hurt generally do not cry till
some one commiserates them; thus not on account of
the pain, but on account of the idea of it. When we
are moved to tears, not through our own suffering but
through that of another, this happens as follows. Either
we vividly put ourselves in the place of the sufferer by
imagination, or see in his fate the lot of humanity as a
whole, and consequently, first of all, our own lot ; and
thus, in a very roundabout way, it is yet always about
ourselves that we weep, sympathy with ourselves which
we feel. This seems to be the principal reason of the
universal, and thus natural, weeping in the case of death.
The mourner does not weep for his loss ; he would be
ashamed of such egotistical tears, instead of which he is
sometimes ashamed of not weeping. First of all he
certainly weeps for the fate of the dead, but he also
weeps when, after long, heavy, and incurable suffering,
death was to this man a wished-for deliverance. Thus,
principally, he is seized with sympathy for the lot of all

1 As I wander sunk in thought, weep aloud, which otherwise I am
so strong a sympathy with myself not wont to do.
come3 over me that I must often

488 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

mankind, which is necessarily finite, so that every life,
however aspiring, and often rich in deeds, must be ex-
tinguished and become nothing. But in this lot of
mankind the mourner sees first of all his own, and this
all the more, the more closely he is related to him who
has died, thus most of all if it is his father. Although
to his father his life was misery through age and sick-
ness, and though his helplessness was a heavy burden
to his son, yet that son weeps bitterly over the death of
his father for the reason which has been given.1

§ 68. After this digression about the identity of pure
love and sympathy, the final return of which upon our
own individuality has, as its symptom, the phenomenon
of weeping, I now take up the thread of our discussion
of the ethical significance of action, in order to show
how, from the same source from which all goodness,
love, virtue, and nobility of character spring, there finally
arises that which I call the denial of the will to live.

We saw before that hatred and wickedness are con-
ditioned by egoism, and egoism rests on the entangle-
ment of knowledge in the principium individuationis.
Thus we found that the penetration of that principium
individuationis is the source and the nature of justice,
and when it is carried further, even to its fullest extent,
it is the source and nature of love and nobility of char-
acter. For this penetration alone, by abolishing the
distinction between our own individuality and that of
others, renders possible and explains perfect goodness of
disposition, extending to disinterested love and the most
generous self-sacrifice for others.

If, however, this penetration of the principium indivi-
duationis, this direct knowledge of the identity of will in
all its manifestations, is present in a high degree of di
tinctness, it will at once show an influence upon the wi]

1 Cf. Ch. xlvii. of Supplement. It has been explained fully and

is scarcely necessary to remind the detail in my prize-essay 01

reader that the whole ethical doc- foundation of morals,
trine given in outline in §§ 61-67

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 489

which extends still further. If that veil of Maya, the
principium m&iwduationis, is lifted from the eyes of a
man to such an extent that he no longer makes the ego-
tistical distinction between his person and that of others,
but takes as much interest in the sufferings of other indi-
viduals as in his own, and therefore is not only benevo-
lent in the highest degree, but even ready to sacrifice his
own individuality whenever such a sacrifice will save a
number of other persons, then it clearly follows that such
a man, who recognises in all beings his own inmost and
true self, must also regard the infinite suffering of all
suffering beings as his own, and take on himself the pain
of the whole world. No suffering is any longer strange
to him. All the miseries of others which he sees and is
so seldom able to alleviate, all the miseries he knows
directly, and even those which he only knows as possible,
work upon his mind like his own. It is no longer the
changing joy and sorrow of his own person that he has
in view, as is the case with him who is still involved in
egoism ; but, since he sees through the principium indi-
viduationis, all lies equally near him. He knows the
whole, comprehends its nature, and finds that it consists
in a constant passing away, vain striving, inward conflict,
and continual suffering. He sees wherever he looks suf- f
fering humanity, the suffering brute creation, and a world
that passes away. But all this now lies as near him as
his own person lies to the egoist. Why should he now, !
with such knowledge of the world, assert this very life }
through constant acts of will, and thereby bind himself 1
ever more closely to it, press it ever more firmly to him- ,
self ? Thus he who is still involved in the principium
individuations, in egoism, only knows particular things
and their relation to his own person, and these constantly
become new motives of his volition. But, on the other
hand, that knowledge of the whole, of the nature of the
thing-in-itself which has been described, becomes a quieter
of all and every volition. The will now turns away

49o THE WORLD AS WILL, bk. iv.

from life ; it now shudders at the pleasures in which it
recognises the assertion of life. Man now attains to the
state of voluntary renunciation, resignation, true indiffe-
rence, and perfect will-lessness. If at times, in the hard
experience of our own suffering, or in the vivid recog-
nition of that of others, the knowledge of the vanity and
bitterness of life draws nigh to us also who are still
wrapt in the veil of Maya, and we would like to destroy
the sting of the desires, close the entrance against all
suffering, and purify and sanctify ourselves by complete
and final renunciation; yet the illusion of the pheno-
menon soon entangles us again, and its motives influence
the will anew ; we cannot tear ourselves free. The allure-
ment of hope, the flattery of the present, the sweetness
of pleasure, the well-being which falls to our lot, amid
the lamentations of a suffering world governed by chance
and error, draws us back to it and rivets our bonds anew.
Therefore Jesus says : " It is easier for a camel to go
through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter
into the kingdom of God."

If we compare life to a course or path through which
we must unceasingly run — a path of red-hot coals, with
a few cool places here and there ; then he who is en-
tangled in delusion is consoled by the cool places, on
which he now stands, or which he sees near him, and
sets out to run through the course. But he who sees
through the principium individuationis, and recognises
the real nature of the thing-in-itself, and thus the whole,
is no longer susceptible of such consolation ; he sees him-
I self in all places at once, and withdraws. His will turns
j round, no longer asserts its own nature, which is reflected
in the phenomenon, but denies it. The phenomenon by
which this change is marked, is the transition from virtue
to asceticism That is to say, it no longer suffices for
such a man to love others as himself, and to do as much
for them as for himself ; but there arises within him a
horror of the nature of which his own phenomenal exist-

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 491

ence is an expression, the will to live, the kernel and
inner nature of that world which is recognised as full of
misery. He therefore disowns this nature which appears
in him, and is already expressed through his body, and
his action gives the lie to his phenomenal existence, and
appears in open contradiction to it. Essentially nothing
I else but a manifestation of will, he ceases to will any-
thing, guards against attaching his will to anything, and
seeks to confirm in himself the greatest indifference to
everything. His body, healthy and strong, expresses
through the genitals, the sexual impulse ; but he denies
the will and gives the lie to the body ; he desires no
sensual gratification under any condition. Voluntary
and complete chastity is the first step in asceticism ory
the denial of the will to live. It thereby denies the J
assertion of the will which extends beyond the individual \
life, and gives the assurance that with the life of this
body, the will, whose manifestation it is, ceases. Nature,
always true and naive, declares that if this maxim became
universal, the human race would die out ; and I think I
may assume, in accordance with what was said in the
Second Book about the connection of all manifestations
of will, that with its highest manifestation, the weaker
reflection of it would also pass away, as the twilight
vanishes along with the full light. With the entire
abolition of knowledge, the rest of the world would of
itself vanish into nothing ; for without a subject there is
no object. I should like here to refer to a passage in »
the Vedas, where it is said : " As in this world hungry
infants press round their mother ; so do all beings await j
the holy oblation." (Asiatic Eesearches, vol. viii ; Cole- »
brooke, On the Vedas, Abstract of the Sama-Veda ; also [
in Colebrooke's Miscellaneous Essays, vol. i. p. 79.) *
Sacrifice means resignation generally, and the rest of
nature must look for its salvation to man who is at once
the priest and the sacrifice. Indeed it deserves to be
noticed as very remarkable, that this thought has also

Vr

492 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

been expressed by the admirable and unfathomably pro-
found Angelus Silesius, in the little poem entitled, " Man
brings all to God;" it runs, "Man! all loves thee;
around thee great is the throng. All things flee to thee
that they may attain to God." But a yet greater mystic,
Meister Eckhard, whose wonderful writings are at last acces-
sible (1857) through the edition of Franz Pfeiffer, says the
same thing (p. 459) quite in the sense explained here:
" I bear witness to the saying of Christ. I, if I be lifted
up from the earth, will draw all things unto me (John
xii. 32). So shall the good man draw all things up to
God, to the source whence they first came. The Masters
certify to us that all creatures are made for the sake of
man. This is proved in all created things, by the fact
that the one makes the use of the other ; the ox makes
use of the grass, the fish of the water, the bird of the air,
the wild beast of the forest. Thus, all created things
become of use to the good man. A good man brings to
God the one created thing in the other." He means to
say, that man makes use of the brutes in this life because,
in and with himself, he saves them also. It also seems
to me that that difficult passage in the Bible, Rom. viii
21-24, must be interpreted in this sense.

In Buddhism also, there is no lack of expressions of
this truth. For example, when Buddha, still as Bodi-
satwa, has his horse saddled for the last time, for his
flight into the wilderness from his father's house, he
says these lines to the horse: "Long hast thou existed
in life and in death, but now thou shalt cease from
carrying and drawing. Bear me but this once more,
0 Kantakana, away from here, and when I have attained
to the Law (have become Buddha) I will not forget
thee" (Foe Koue Ki, trad. p. Abel Rdmusat, p. 233).

Asceticism then shows itself further in voluntary and
intentional poverty, which not only arises per accidem,
because the possessions are given away to mitigate the
sufferings of others, but is here an end in itself, is meant

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 493

to serve as a constant mortification of will, so that the
satisfaction of the wishes, the sweet of life, shall not
again arouse the will, against which self-knowledge has
conceived a horror. He who has attained to this point, still
always feels, as a living body, as concrete manifestation
of will, the natural disposition for every kind of volition ;
but he intentionally suppresses it, for he compels him-
self to refrain from doing all that he would like to
do, and to do all that he would like not to do, even
if this has no further end than that of serving as a
mortification of will. Since he himself denies the will
which appears in his own person, he will not resist if
another does the same, i.e., inflicts wrongs upon him.
Therefore every suffering coming to him from without,
through chance or the wickedness of others, is wel-
come to him, every injury, ignominy, and insult; he
receives them gladly as the opportunity of learning
with certainty that he no longer asserts the will, but
gladly sides with every enemy of the manifestation of
will which is his own person. Therefore he bears such
ignominy and suffering with inexhaustible patience and
meekness, returns good for evil without ostentation, and
allows the fire of anger to rise within him just as little
as that of the desires. And he mortifies not only the
will itself, but also its visible form, its objectivity, the
body. He nourishes it sparingly, lest its excessive vigour
and prosperity should animate and excite more strongly
the will, of which it is merely the expression and the
mirror. So he practises fasting, and even resorts to
chastisement and self-inflicted torture, in order that, by
constant privation and suffering, he may more and more
break down and destroy the will, which he recognises
and abhors as the source of his own suffering existence
and that of the world. If at last death comes, which
puts an end to this manifestation of that will, whose
existence here has long since perished through free-denial
of itself, with the exception of the weak residue of it

494 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

V which appears as the life of this body ; it is most wel-
come, and is gladly received as a longed-for deliverance.
Here it is not, as in the case of others, merely the mani-
festation which ends with death ; but the inner nature
itself is abolished, which here existed only in the mani-
festation, and that in a very weak degree ; 1 this last
slight bond is now broken. For him who thus ends, the
world has ended also.

And what I have here described with feeble tongue
and only in general terms, is no philosophical fable, in-
vented by myself, and only of to-day; no, it was the
enviable life of so many saints and beautiful souls among
Christians, and still more among Hindus and Buddhists,
and also among the believers of other religions. How-
ever different were the dogmas impressed on their reason,
the same inward, direct, intuitive knowledge, from which
alone all virtue and holiness proceed, expressed itself in
precisely the same way in the conduct of life. For here
also the great distinction between intuitive and abstract
knowledge shows itself; a distinction which is of such
importance and universal application in our whole inves-
tigation, and which has hitherto been too little attended
to. There is a wide gulf between the two, which can
only be crossed by the aid of philosophy, as regards the
knowledge of the nature of the world. Intuitively or in
concrete, every man is really conscious of all philosophical
truths, but to bring them to abstract knowledge, to reflec-
tion, is the work of philosophy, which neither ought nor
is able to do more than this.

Thus it may be that the inner nature of holiness, self-
renunciation, mortification of our own will, asceticism, is

1 This thought is expressed by a formed soul from its corporeal frame

beautiful simile in the ancient philo- at length takes place and nature in

•ophical ^ Sanscrit writing, " Sank- respect of it ceases, then is absolute

hya Karica : " " Yet the soul remains and final deliverance accompl ished. "

a while invested with body; as the Colebrooke, " On the Philosophy of

potter's wheel continues whirling the Hindus : Miscellaneous Essays,"

after the pot has been fashioned, by voL L p. 271. Also in the " Sank-

f orce of the impulse previously given hya Karica by Horace Wilson, " § 67,

to it. When separation of the in- p. 184.

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 495

here for the first time expressed abstractly, and free from
all mythical elements, as denial of the will to live, appear-
ing after the complete knowledge of its own nature has
become a quieter of all volition. On the other hand, it
has been known directly and realised in practice by saints
and ascetics, who had all the same inward knowledge,
though they used very different language with regard to
it, according to the dogmas which their reason had ac-
cepted, and in consequence of which an Indian, a Chris-
tian, or a Lama saint must each give a very different
account of his conduct, which is, however, of no import-
ance as regards the fact. A saint may be full of the
absurdest superstition, or, on the contrary, lie may be a
philosopher, it is all the same. His conduct alone
certifies that he is a saint, for, in a moral regard, it pro-
ceeds from knowledge of the world and its nature, which
is not abstractly but intuitively and directly apprehended,
and is only expressed by him in any dogma for the satis-
faction of his reason. It is therefore just as little needful
that a saint should be a philosopher as that a philosopher
should be a saint ; just as it is not necessary that a per-
fectly beautiful man should be a great sculptor, or that a
great sculptor should himself be a beautiful man. In
general, it is a strange demand upon a moralist that he
should teach no other virtue than that which he him-
self possesses. To repeat the whole nature of the world
abstractly, universally, and distinctly in concepts, and thus
to store up, as it were, a reflected image of it in permanent
concepts always at the command of the reason ; this and
nothing else is philosophy. I refer the reader to the
passage quoted from Bacon in the First Book.

But the description I have given above of the denial
of the will to live, of the conduct of a beautiful soul, of a
resigned and voluntarily expiating saint, is merely abstract
and general, and therefore cold. As the knowledge from
which the denial of the will proceeds is intuitive and not
abstract, it finds its most perfect expression, not in ab-

496 THE WORLD AS WILL. dk. iv.

stract conceptions, but in deeds and conduct. Therefore,
in order to understand fully what we philosophically
express as denial of the will to live, one must come to
know examples of it in experience and actual life.
Certainly they are not to be met with in daily experi-
ence : Nam omnia prceclara tarn difficilia quam rara sunt,
Spinoza admirably says. Therefore, unless by a specially
happy fate we are made eye-witnesses, we have to con-
tent ourselves with descriptions of the lives of such men.
Indian literature, as we see from the little that we as
yet know through translations, is very rich in descrip-
tions of the lives of saints, penitents, Samanas or ascetics,
Sanny&sis or mendicants, and whatever else they may be
called. Even the well-known " Mythologie des Indous,
par Mad. de Polier," though by no means to be com-
mended in every respect, contains many excellent ex-
amples of this kind (especially in ch. 1 3, vol. ii.) Among
Christians also there is no lack of examples which afford
us the illustrations we desire. See the biographies, for
the most part badly written, of those persons who are
sometimes called saintly souls, sometimes pietists, quietists,
devout enthusiasts, and so forth. Collections of such
biographies have been made at various times, such as
Tersteegen's " Leben heiliger Seelen," Eeiz's " Geschichte
der Wiedergeborennen," in our own day, a collection by
Kanne, which, with much that is bad, yet contains some
good, and especially the " Leben der Beata Sturmin." To
this category very properly belongs the life of St Francis
of Assisi, that true personification of the ascetic, and pro-
totype of all mendicant friars. His life, described by his
younger contemporary, St. Bonaventura, also famous as
a scholastic, has recently been republished. "Vita S.
Francisci a S. Bonaventura concinnata" (Soest, 1847),
though shortly before a painstaking and detailed bio-
graphy, making use of all sources of information, appeared
in France, " Histoire de S. Francois d'Assise, par Chavin
de Mallau " (1845). As an Oriental parallel of these

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 497

monastic writings we have the very valuable work of
Spence Hardy, » Eastern Monachism ; an Account of the
Order of Mendicants founded by Gotama Budha "
(1850). It shows us the same thing in another dress.
We also see what a matter of indifference it is whether
it proceeds from a theistical or an atheistical religion.
But as a special and exceedingly full example and prac-
tical illustration of the conceptions I have established,
I can thoroughly recommend the "Autobiography of
Madame de Guion." To become acquainted with this
great and beautiful soul, the very thought of whom
always fills me with reverence, and to do justice to the
excellence of her disposition while making allowance for
the superstition of her reason, must be just as delightful
to every man of the better sort as with vulgar thinkers,
i.e., the majority, that book will always stand in bad
repute. For it is the case with regard to everything,
that each man can only prize that which to a certain
extent is analogous to him and for which he has at least
a slight inclination. This holds good of ethical concerns
as well as of intellectual. We might to a certain extent
regard the well-known French biography of Spinoza as a
case in point, if we used as a key to it that noble intro-
troduction to his very insufficient essay, "De Emenda-
tions Intellectus," a passage which I can also recommend
as the most effectual means I know of stilling the storm
of the passions. Finally, even the great Goethe, Greek as
lie is, did not think it below his dignity to show us this
most beautiful side of humanity in the magic mirror of
poetic art, for lie represented the life of Fraulein Klet-
tenberg in an idealised form in his " Confessions of a
Beautiful Soul," and later, in his own biography, gave
us also an historical account of it. Besides this? he
twice told the story of the life of St. Philippo Neri. The
history of the world will, and indeed must, keep silence
about the men whose conduct is the best and only adequate
illustration of this important point of our investigation
vol. 1. 2

498 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. rv

for the material of the history of the world is quite
different, and indeed opposed to this. It is not the denial
of the will to live, but its assertion and its manifesta-
tion in innumerable individuals in which its conflict
with itself at the highest grade of its objectification
appears with perfect distinctness, and brings before our
eyes, now the ascendancy of the individual through
prudence, now the might of the many through their
mass, now the might of chance personified as fate,
always the vanity and emptiness of the whole effort
We, however, do not follow here the course of pheno-
mena in time, but, as philosophers, we seek to investigate
the ethical significance of action, and take this as the
only criterion of what for us is significant and important.
Thus we will not be withheld by any fear of the con«
stant numerical superiority of vulgarity and dulness from
acknowledging that the greatest, most important, and
most significant phenomenon that the world can show is
not the conqueror of the world, but the subduer of it ;
is nothing but the quiet, unobserved life of a man who
has attained to the knowledge in consequence of which
he surrenders and denies that will to live which fills
everything and strives and strains in all, and which first
gains freedom here in him alone, so that his conduct
becomes the exact opposite of that of other mem In
this respect, therefore, for the philosopher, these accounts
of the lives of holy, self-denying men, badly as they are
generally written, and mixed as they are with super-
stition and nonsense, are, because of the significance of
the material, immeasurably more instructive and impor-
tant than even Plutarch and Livy.

It will further assist us much in obtaining a more
definite and full knowledge of what we have expressed
abstractly and generally, according to our method of
exposition, as the denial of the will to live, if we con- I
sider the moral teaching that has been imparted with
this intention, and by men who were full of this spirit ; j

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 49g

and this will also show how old our view is, though the
pure philosophical expression of it may be quite new.
The teaching of this kind which lies nearest to hand is
Christianity, the ethics of which are entirely in the
spirit indicated, and lead not only to the highest degrees
of human love, but also to renunciation. The germ
of this last side of it is certainly distinctly present
in the writings of the Apostles, but it was only fully
developed and expressed later. We find the Apostles
enjoining the love of our neighbour as ourselves, bene-
volence, the requital of hatred with love and well-doing,
patience, meekness, the endurance of all possible injuries
without resistance, abstemiousness in nourishment to
keep down lust, resistance to sensual desire, if possible,
altogether. We already see here the first degrees of
asceticism, or denial of the will proper. This last
expression denotes that which in the Gospels is called
denying ourselves and taking up the cross (Matt. xvi. 24,
25 ; Mark viii. 34, 35; Luke ix. 23, 24, xiv. 26, 27,
33). This tendency soon developed itself more and
more, and was the origin of hermits, anchorites, and
monasticism — an origin which in itself was pure and
holy, but for that very reason unsuitable for the great
majority of men ; therefore what developed out of it
could only be hypocrisy and wickedness, for abusus optimi
pessimus. In more developed Christianity, we see that
seed of asceticism unfold into the full flower in the
writings of the Christian saints and mystics. These
preach, besides the purest love, complete resignation,
voluntary and absolute poverty, genuine calmness, perfect
indifference to all worldly things, dying to our own will
and being born again in God, entire forgetting of our
own person, and sinking ourselves in the contemplation
of God. A full exposition of this will be found in
Fdnelon's " Explication des Maximes des Saints sur la Vie
Interieure." But the spirit of this development of Chris-
tianity is certainly nowhere so fully and powerfully

5<x>

THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

expressed as in the writings of the German mystics, in
the works of Meister Eckhard, and in that justly famous
hook "Die Deutsche Theologie," of which Luther says
in the introduction to it which he wrote, that with the
exception of the Bible and St. Augustine, he had learnt
more from it of what God, Christ, and man are than from
any other book. Yet we only got the genuine and cor-
rect text of it in the year 185 1, in the Stuttgart edition
by Ppeiffer. The precepts and doctrines which are laid
down there are the most perfect exposition, sprung from
deep inward conviction of what I have presented as
the denial of the will. It should therefore be studied
more closely in that form before it is dogmatised about
with Jewish-Protestant assurance. Tauler's "Nachfol-
"un<* des armen Leben Christi," and also his " Medulla
Animae," are written in the same admirable spirit, though
not quite equal in value to that work. In my opinion
the teaching of these genuine Christian mystics, when
compared with the teaching of the New Testament, is as
alcohol to wine, or what becomes visible in the New
Testament as through a veil and mist appears to us in the
works of the mystics without cloak or disguise, in full
clearness and distinctness. Finally, the New Testament
might be regarded as the first initiation, the mystics as
the second, — o-juciKpa kcci /meycika juivcrTtjpLa.

We find, however, that which we have called the
denial of the will to live more fully developed, more
variously expressed, and more vividly represented in the
ancient Sanscrit writings than could be the case in the
Christian Church and the Western world. That this
important ethical view of life could here attain to a fuller
development and a more distinct expression is perhaps
principally to be ascribed to the fact that it was not
confined by an element quite foreign to it, as Christianity
is by the Jewish theology, to which its sublime author
had necessarily to adopt and accommodate it, partly con-
sciously, partly, it may be, unconsciously. Thus Chris-

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 501

tianity is made up of two very different constituent parts,
and I should like to call the purely ethical part especially
and indeed exclusively Christian, and distinguish it from
the Jewish dogmatism with which it is combined. If,
as has often been feared, and especially at the present
time, that excellent and salutary religion should alto-
gether decline, I should look for the reason of this simply
in the fact that it does not consist of one single element,
but of two originally different elements, which have only
been combined through the accident of history. In such
a case dissolution had to follow through the separation
of these elements, arising from their different relationship
to and reaction against the progressive spirit of the age.
But even after this dissolution the purely ethical part
must always remain uninjured, because it is indestructible.
Our knowledge of Hindu literature is still very imper-
fect. Yet, as we find their ethical teaching variously
and powerfully expressed in the Vedas, Puranas, poems,
myths, legends of their saints, maxims and precepts,1 we see
that it inculcates love of our neighbour with complete
renunciation of self-love; love generally, not confined
to mankind, but including all living creatures; bene-
volence, even to the giving away of the hard-won
wages of daily toil; unlimited patience towards all who
injure us ; the requital of all wickedness, however base,
with goodness and love ; voluntary and glad endurance
of all ignominy ; abstinence from all animal food ; per- |
feet chastity and renunciation of all sensual pleasure

1 See, for example, "Oupnek'hat, Ordinances of Menu," from the

studio Anquetil du Perron," vol. ii, Sanscrit, by Sir William Jones (Ger-

Nos. 138, 144, 145, 146. "Mytho- man by Hiittner, 1797), especially

logie des Indous," par Mad. de Po- the sixth and twelfth chapters. Pi-

lier, vol. ii., ch. 13, 14, 15, 16, 17. nally, many passages in the "Asiatic

"Asiatisches Magazin," by Klap- Researches." (In the last forty

roth: in the first volume, "TJeber years Indian literature has grown

die Fo-Religion," also "Baghnat so much in Europe, that if I were

Geeta" or "Gesprache zwischen now to complete this note to the

Krishna und Arjoon ; " in the second first edition, it would occupy several

volume, " Moha-Mudgava." Also, pages.)
"Institutes of Hindu Law, or the

5o2 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

for him who strives after true holiness ; the surrender
of all possessions, the forsaking of every dwelling-place
and of all relatives; deep unbroken solitude, spent in
silent contemplation, with voluntary penance and ter-
rible slow self-torture for the absolute mortification of
the will, torture which extends to voluntary death by
starvation, or by men giving themselves up to croco-
•diles, or flinging themselves over the sacred precipice
in the Himalayas, or being buried alive, or, finally, by
flinging themselves under the wheels of the huge car
of an idol drawn along amid the singing, shouting, and
dancing of bayaderes. And even yet these precepts,
whose origin reaches back more than four thousand
years, are carried out in practice, in some cases even
to the utmost extreme,1 and this notwithstanding the
fact that the Hindu nation has been broken up into
so many parts. A religion which demands the greatest
sacrifices, and which has yet remained so long in prac-
tice in a nation that embraces so many millions of
persons, cannot be an arbitrarily invented superstition,
but must have its foundation in the nature of man.
But besides this, if we read the life of a Christian
penitent or saint, and also that of a Hindu saint, we
cannot sufficiently wonder at the harmony we find
between them, In the case of such radically different
dogmas, customs, and circumstances, the inward life
and effort of both is the same. And the same harmony
prevails in the maxims prescribed for both of them.
For example, Tauler speaks of the absolute poverty
which one ought to seek, and which consists in giving
away and divesting oneself completely of everything
from which one might draw comfort or worldly pleasure,
clearly because all this constantly affords new nourish-
ment to the will, which it is intended to destroy en-

1 At the procession of Jagganath were instantly killed. (Letter of an
in June 1840, eleven Hindus threw East Indian proprietor in the Ttnut
themselves under the wheels, and of 30th December 1840.)

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 503

tirely. And as an Indian counterpart of this, we find
in the precepts of Fo that the Saniassi, who ought to
be without a dwelling and entirely without property,
is further finally enjoined not to lay himself down often
under the same tree, lest he should acquire a preference
or inclination for it above other trees. The Christian
mystic and the teacher of the Vedanta philosophy agree
in this respect also, they both regard all outward works
and religious exercises as superfluous for him who has
attained to perfection. So much agreement in the case
of such different ages and nations is a practical proof
that what is expressed here is not, as optimistic dul-
ness likes to assert, an eccentricity and perversity of
the mind, but an essential side of human nature, which
only appears so rarely because of its excellence.

I have now indicated the sources from which there
may be obtained a direct knowledge, drawn from life
itself, of the phenomena in which the denial of the will to
live exhibits itself. In some respects this is the most
important point of our whole work; yet I have only
explained it quite generally, for it is better to refer to
those who speak from direct experience, than to increase
the size of this book unduly by weak repetitions of what
is said by them.

I only wish to add a little to the general indication of
the nature of this state. We saw above that the wicked
man, by the vehemence of his volition, suffers constant,
consuming, inward pain, and finally, if all objects of voli-
tion are exhausted, quenches the fiery thirst of his self-
will by the sight of the suffering of others. He, on the
contrary, who has attained to the denial of the will to
live, however poor, joyless, and full of privation his con-
dition may appear when looked at externally, is yet filled
with inward joy and the true peace of heaven. It is not
the restless strain of life, the jubilant delight which has
keen suffering as its preceding or succeeding condition,
in the experience of the man who loves life ; but it is a

\/

5o4 THE WORLD AS WILL. BK. iv.

peace that cannot be shaken, a deep rest and inward
serenity, a state which we cannot behold without the
greatest longing when it is brought before our eyes or
our imagination, because we at once recognise it as that
which alone is right, infinitely surpassing everything else,
upon which our better self cries within us the great
sapere aude. Then we feel that every gratification of
our wishes won from the world is merely like the alms
which the beggar receives from life to-day that he may
hunger again on the morrow; resignation, on the con-
trary, is like an inherited estate, it frees the owner for
ever from all care.

It will be remembered from the Third Book that the
aesthetic pleasure in the beautiful consists in great mea-
sure in the fact that in entering the state of pure con-
templation we are lifted for the moment above all will-
ing, i.e., all wishes and cares; we become, as it were, freed
from ourselves. We are no longer the individual whose
knowledge is subordinated to the service of its constant
willing, the correlative of the particular thing to which
objects are motives, but the eternal subject of know-
ing purified from will, the correlative of the Platonic
Idea. And we know that these moments in which,
delivered from the ardent strain of will, we soem to rise
out of the heavy atmosphere of earth, are the happiest
which we experience. From this we can understand
how blessed the life of a man must be whose will is
silenced, not merely for a moment, as in the enjoyment
of the beautiful, but for ever, indeed altogether extin-
guished, except as regards the last glimmering spark
that retains the body in life, and will be extinguished
with its death. Such a man, who, after many bitter
struggles with his own nature, has finally conquered
entirely, continues to exist only as a pure, knowing
being, the undimmed mirror of the world. Nothing
can trouble him more, nothing can move him, for he
has cut all the thousand cords of will which hold us

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 505

bound to the world, and, as desire, fear, envy, anger,
drag us hither and thither in constant pain. He now
looks back smiling and at rest on the delusions of this
world, which once were able to move and agonise his
spirit also, but which now stand before him as utterly
indifferent to him, as the chess-men when the game is
ended, or as, in the morning, the cast-off masquerading
dress which worried and disquieted us in a night in
Carnival. Life and its forms now pass before him as a
fleeting illusion, as a light morning dream before half-
waking eyes, the real world already shining through it
bo that it can no longer deceive ; and like this morning
dream, they finally vanish altogether without any violent
transition. From this we can understand the meaning
of Madame Guion when towards the end of her auto-
biography she often expresses herself thus : " Everything
is alike to me ; I cannot will anything more : often I
know not whether I exist or not." In order to express
how, after the extinction of the will, the death of the
body (which is indeed only the manifestation of the
will, and therefore loses all significance when the will is
abolished) can no longer have any bitterness, but is very
welcome, I may be allowed to quote the words of that
holy penitent, although they are not very elegantly
turned: "Midi de la gloire ; jour ou il riy a plus de
nuit ; vie qui ne craint plus la mort, dans la mort meme :
parceque la mort a vaincu la mort, et que celui qui a
souffert la premiere mort, ne goutera plus la seconde mort "
(Vie de Mad. de Guion, vol. ii. p. 13).

We must not, however, suppose that when, by means
of the knowledge which acts as a quieter of will, the
denial of the will to live has once appeared, it never
wavers or vacillates, and that we can rest upon it as on an
assured possession. Rather, it must ever anew be attained
by a constant battle. For since the body is the will
itself only in the form of objectivity or as manifestation in
the world as idea, so long as the body lives, the whole

506 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

will to live exists potentially, and constantly strives to
become actual, and to burn again with all its ardour.
Therefore that peace and blessedness in the life of holy
men which we have described is only found as the
flower which proceeds from the constant victory over the
will, and the ground in which it grows is the constant
battle with the will to live, for no one can have lasting
peace upon earth. We therefore see the histories of the
inner life of saints full of spiritual conflicts, temptations,
and absence of grace, i.e., the kind of knowledge which
makes all motives ineffectual, and as an universal quieter
silences all volition, gives the deepest peace and opens
the door of freedom. Therefore also we see those who
have once attained to the denial of the will to live strive
with all their might to keep upon this path, by enforced
renunciation of every kind, by penance and severity of
life, and by selecting whatever is disagreeable to them,
all in order to suppress the will, which is constantly
springing up anew. Hence, finally, because they already
know the value of salvation, their anxious carefulness to
retain the hard-won blessing, their scruples of conscience
about every innocent pleasure, or about every little excite-
ment of their vanity, which here also dies last, the most
immovable, the most active, and the most foolish of all
the inclinations of man. By the term asceticism, which
I have used so often, I mean in its narrower sense this
intentional breaking of the will by the refusal of what
is agreeable and the selection of what is disagreeable, the
voluntarily chosen life of penance and self- chastisement
for the continual mortification of the will.

We see this practised by him who has attained to the
denial of the will in order to enable him to persist in it ;
but suffering in general, as it is inflicted by fate, is a
second way (Sevrepos irXovg 2) of attaining to that denial.
Indeed, we may assume that most men only attain to it
in this way, and that it is the suffering which is person-

1 On fain-epos tt\ovs cf. Stob. FloriL, voL ii. p. 374.

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 507

ally experienced, not that which is merely known, which
most frequently, produces complete resignation, often only
at the approach of death. For only in the case of a few
is the mere knowledge which, seeing through the prin-
cipium individuationis, first produces perfect goodness of
disposition and universal love of humanity, and finally
enables them to regard all the suffering of the world as
their own; only in the case of a few, I say, is this
knowledge sufficient to bring about the denial of the
will. Even with him who approaches this point, it is
almost invariably the case that the tolerable condition of
his own body, the flattery of the moment, the delusion
of hope, and the satisfaction of the will, which is ever
presenting itself anew, i.e., lust, is a constant hindrance
to the denial of the will, and a constant temptation to
the renewed assertion of it. Therefore in this respect
all these illusions have been personified as the devil.
Thus in most cases the will must be broken by great
personal suffering before its self-conquest appears. Then
we see the man who has passed through all the in-
creasing degrees of affliction with the most vehement
resistance, and is finally brought to the verge of despair,
suddenly retire into himself, know himself and the
world, change his whole nature, rise above himself and
all suffering, as if purified and sanctified by it, in inviol-
able peace, blessedness, and sublimity, willingly renounce
everything he previously desired with all his might, and
joyfully embrace death. It is the refined silver of the
denial of the will to live that suddenly comes forth from
the purifying flame of suffering. It is salvation. Some-
times we see even those who were very wicked purified to
this degree by great grief ; they have become new beings
and are completely changed. Therefore their former
misdeeds trouble their consciences no more, yet they
willingly atone for them by death, and gladly see the
end of the manifestation of that will which is now
foreign to them and abhorred by them. The great

5°8 THE WORLD AS WILL.

BK. IV.

Goethe has given us a distinct and visible representation
of this denial of the will, brought about by great mis-
fortunes and despair of all deliverance, in his immortal
masterpiece "Faust," in the story of the sufferings of
Gretchen. I know no parallel to this in poetry. It is
a perfect example of the second path that leads to the
denial of the will, not, as the first, through the mere
knowledge of the sufferings of a whole world which one
has voluntarily acquired, but through excessive suffering
experienced in one's own person. Many tragedies cer-
tainly end by conducting their strong-willed heroes to the
point of entire resignation, and then generally the will to
live and its manifestation end together, but no representa-
tion that is known to me brings what is essential to
that change so distinctly before us, free from all that is
extraneous, as the part of " Faust " I have referred to.

In actual life we see that those unfortunate persons
who have to drink to the dregs the greatest cup of
suffering, since when all hope is taken from them they
have to face with full consciousness a shameful, violent,
and often painful death on the scaffold, are very frequently
changed in this way. We must not indeed assume that
there is so great a difference between their character and
that of most men as their fate would seem to indicate,
but must attribute the latter for the most part to circum*
stances ; yet they are guilty and to a considerable degree
bad. We see, however, many of them, when they have
entirely lost hope, changed in the way referred to. They
now show actual goodness and purity of disposition, true
abhorrence of doing any act in the least degree bad or
unkind. They forgive their enemies, even if it is through
them that they innocently suffer; and not with words
merely and a sort of hypocritical fear of the judges of the
lower world, but in reality and with inward earnestness
and no desire for revenge. Indeed, their sufferings and
death at last becomes dear to them, for the denial of the
will to live has appeared ; they often decline the deliver-

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 509

ance when it is offered, and die gladly, peacefully, and
happily. To them the last secret of life has revealed
itself in their excessive pain ; the secret that misery and
wickedness, sorrow and hate, the sufferer and the inflicter
of suffering, however different they may appear to the
knowledge which follows the principle of sufficient reason,
are in themselves one, the manifestation of that one will
to live which objectifies its conflict with itself by means
of the principium individitationis. They have learned
to know both sides in full measure, the badness and the
misery ; and since at last they see the identity of the
two, they reject them both at once ; they deny the will to
live. In what myths and dogmas they account to their
reason for this intuitive and direct knowledge and for
their own change is, as has been said, a matter of no
importance.

Matthias Claudius must without doubt have witnessed
a change of mind of this description when he wrote the
remarkable essay in the u Wandsbecker Boten " (pt. i.
p. 115) with the title " Bekehrungsgeschichte des * # * "
(History of the Conversion of * * * "), which concludes
thus : " Man's way of thinking may pass from one point
of the periphery to the opposite point, and again back to
the former point, if circumstances mark out for him the
path. And these changes in a man are really nothing
fn-eat or interesting, but that remarkable, catholic, transcen-
dental change in which the whole circle is irreparably
broken up and all the laws of psychology become vain
and empty when the coat is stripped from the shoulders,
or at least turned outside in, and as it were scales fall
from a man's eyes, is such that every one who has breath
in his nostrils forsakes father and mother if he can hear
or experience something certain about it."

The approach of death and hopelessness are in other
respects not absolutely necessary for such a purification
through suffering. Even without them the knowledge of
the contradiction of the will to live with itself can, through

5'o THE WORLD AS WILL.

BK. I».

great misfortune and pain, force an entrance, and the vanity
of all striving become recognised. Hence it has often
happened that men who have led a very restless life in the
full strain of the passions, kings, heroes, and adventurers
suddenly change, betake themselves to resignation and
penance, become hermits or monks. To this class belon°
all trne accounts of conversions; for example, that of
Eaymond Lully, who had long wooed a fair lady, and
was at last admitted to her chamber, anticipating the ful-
filment of all his wishes, when she, opening her bodice,
showed him her bosom frightfully eaten with cancer
From that moment, as if he had looked into hell, he was
changed; he forsook the court of the king of Majorca
and went into the desert to do penance.1 This conversion
is very like that of the Abbe Eance, which I have briefly
related in the 48th chapter of the Supplement If we
consider how in both cases the transition from the plea-
sure to the horror of life was the occasion of it, this
throws some light upon the remarkable fact that it is
among the French, the most cheerful, gay, sensuous, and
frivolous nation in Europe, that by far the strictest of all
monastic orders, the Trappists, arose, was re-established by
Eance after its fall, and has maintained itself to the
present day in all its purity and strictness, in spite of
revolutions, Church reformations, and encroachments of
infidelity.

But a knowledge such as that referred to above of the
nature of this existence may leave us again alono- with
the occasion of it and the will to live, and with °it the
previous character may reappear. Thus we see that the
passionate Benvenuto Cellini was changed in this way
once when he was in prison, and again when very ill •
but when the suffering passed over, he fell back a-ain
into his old state. In general, the denial of the will to
live by no means proceeds from suffering with the neces-
sity of an effect from its cause, but the will remains free;

1 Bruckeri Hi»t Philos., torn) iv. pan. j. p, I0

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 511

for this is indeed the one point at which its freedom
appears directly in the phenomenon; hence the astonish-
ment which Asmus expresses so strongly at the " tran-
scendental change." In the case of every suffering, it is
always possible to conceive a will which exceeds it in
intensity and is therefore unconquered by it. Thus
Plato speaks in the " Phsedon " of men who up to the
moment of their execution feast, drink, and indulge in
sensuous pleasure, asserting life even to the death. Shake-
speare shows us in Cardinal Beaufort the fearful end of
a profligate, who dies full of despair, for no suffering or
death can break his will, which is vehement to the extreme
of wickedness.1

The more intense the will is, the more glaring is the
conflict of its manifestation, and thus the greater is the
suffering. A world which was the manifestation of a
far more intense will to live than this world manifests
would produce so much the greater suffering; would
thus be a hell.

All suffering, since it is a mortification and a call to
resignation, has potentially a sanctifying power. This
is the explanation of the fact that every great misfortune
or deep pain inspires a certain awe. But the sufferer
only really becomes an object of reverence when, survey-
ing the course of his life as a chain of sorrows, or
mourning some great and incurable misfortune, he does
not really look at the special combination of circum-
stances which has plunged his own life into suffering,
nor stops at the single great misfortune that has befallen
him; for in so doing his knowledge still follows the
principle of sufficient reason, and clings to the particular
phenomenon ; he still wills life only not under the condi-
tions which have happened to him; but only then, I
say, he is truly worthy of reverence when he raises his
glance from the particular to the universal, when he
regards his suffering as merely an example of the whole,

1 Henry VI., Part ii. act 3, sc 3.

512 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

and for him, since in a moral regard he partakes of
genius, one case stands for a thousand, so that the whole
of life conceived as essentially suffering brings him to
resignation. Therefore it inspires reverence when in
Goethe's " Torquato Tasso " the princess speaks of how
her own life and that of her relations has always been
sad and joyless, and yet regards the matter from an
entirely universal point of view.

A very noble character we always imagine with a
certain trace of quiet sadness, which is anything but a
constant fretfulness at daily annoyances (this would be an
ignoble trait, and lead us to fear a bad disposition), but
is a consciousness derived from knowledge of the vanity
of all possessions, of the suffering of all life, not merely
of his own. But such knowledge may primarily be
awakened by the personal experience of suffering, especi-
ally some one great sorrow, as a single unfulfilled wish
brought Petrarch to that state of resigned sadness con-
cerning the whole of life which appeals to us so patheti-
cally in his works ; for the Daphne he pursued had to flee
from his hands in order to leave him, instead of herself,
the immortal laurel. When through some such great and
irrevocable denial of fate the will is to some extent broken,
almost nothing else is desired, and the character shows
itself mild, just, noble, and resigned. When, finally, grief
has no definite object, but extends itself over the whole
of life, then it is to a certain extent a going into itself,
a withdrawal, a gradual disappearance of the will, whose
visible manifestation, the body, it imperceptibly but surely
undermines, so that a man feels a certain loosening of his
bonds, a mild foretaste of that death which promises to be
the abolition at once of the body and of the will. There-
fore a secret pleasure accompanies this grief, and it is this,
as I believe, which the most melancholy of all nations has
called " the joy of grief." But here also lies the danger
of sentimentality, both in life itself and in the representa-
tion of it in poetry ; when a man is always mourning and

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 513

lamenting without courageously rising to resignation. In
this way we lose both earth and heaven, and retain merely
a watery sentimentality. Only if suffering assumes the
form of pure knowledge, and this, acting as a quieter of
the will, brings about resignation, is it worthy of reverence.
In this regard, however, we feel a certain respect at the
sight of every great sufferer which is akin to the feeling
excited by virtue and nobility of character, and also seems
like a reproach of our own happy condition. We cannot
help regarding every sorrow, both our own and those of
others, as at least a potential advance towards virtue and
holiness, and, on the contrary, pleasures and worldly satis-
factions as a retrogression from them. This goes so far,
that every man who endures a great bodily or mental
suffering, indeed every one who merely performs some
physical labour which demands the greatest exertion, in
the sweat of his brow and with evident exhaustion, yet
with patience and without murmuring, every such man,
I say, if we consider him with close attention, appears to
us like a sick man who tries a painful cure, and who
willingly, and even with satisfaction, endures the suffering
it causes him, because he knows that the more he suffers
the more the cause of his disease is affected, and that
therefore the present suffering is the measure of his cure.

According to what has been said, the denial of the
will to live, which is just what is called absolute, entire
resignation, or holiness, always proceeds from that quieter
of the will which the knowledge of its inner conflict
and essential vanity, expressing themselves in the suffer-
ing of all living things, becomes. The difference, which
we have represented as two paths, consists in whether
that knowledge is called up by suffering which is merely
and purely known, and is freely appropriated by means of
the penetration of the principium individuationis, or by \
suffering which is directly felt by a man himself. True
salvation, deliverance from life and suffering, cannot even
be imagined without complete denial of the will. Till

vol. 1. 2 K

514 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

then, every one is simply this will itself, whose manifesta-
tion is an ephemeral existence, a constantly vain and empty
striving, and the world full of suffering we have represented,
to which all irrevocably and in like manner belong. For
we found above that life is always assured to the will
to live, and its one real form is the present, from which
they can never escape, since birth and death reign in
the phenomenal world. The Indian mythus expresses
this by saying " they are born again." The great ethical
difference of character means this, that the bad man is
infinitely far from the attainment of the knowledge from
which the denial of the will proceeds, and therefore he is
in truth actually exposed to all the miseries which appear
in life as possible; for even the present fortunate condition
of his personality is merely a phenomenon produced by
the principium individuationis, and a delusion of Maya,
the happy dream of a beggar. The sufferings which in
the vehemence and ardour of his will he inflicts upon
others are the measure of the suffering, the experience
of which in his own person cannot break his will, and
plainly lead it to the denial of itself. All true and pure
love, on the other hand, and even all free justice, proceed
from the penetration of the principium individuationis,
which, if it appears with its full power, results in perfect
sanctification and salvation, the phenomenon of which is
the state of resignation described above, the unbroken
peace which accompanies it, and the greatest delight in
death.1

§ 69. Suicide, the actual doing away with the indivi-
dual manifestation of will, differs most widely from the
denial of the will to live, which is the single outstanding
act of free-will in the manifestation, and is therefore, as
Asmus calls it, the transcendental change. This last has
been fully considered in the course of our work. Far
from being denial of the will, suicide is a phenomenon of
strong assertion of will ; for the essence of negation lies

1 Cf. Ch. xlviii. of the Supplement.

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 515

in this, that the joys of life are shunned, not its sorrows.
The suicide wills life, and is only dissatisfied with the
conditions under which it has presented itself to him.
He therefore by no means surrenders the will to live,
but only life, in that he destroys the individual mani-
festation. He wills life — wills the unrestricted existence
and assertion of the body ; but the complication of circum-
stances does not allow this, and there results for him
great suffering. The very will to live finds itself so
much hampered in this particular manifestation that it
cannot put forth its energies. It therefore comes to such
a determination as is in conformity with its own nature,
which lies outside the conditions of the principle of suffi-
cient reason, and to which, therefore, all particular mani-
festations are alike indifferent, inasmuch as it itself remains
unaffected by all appearing and passing away, and is the
inner life of all things; for that firm inward assurance
by reason of which we all live free from the constant
dread of death, the assurance that a phenomenal existence
can never be wanting to the will, supports our action
even in the case of suicide. Thus the will to live appears
just as much in suicide (Siva) as in the satisfaction of
self-preservation (Vishnu) and in the sensual pleasure of
procreation (Brahma). This is the inner meaning of the
unity of the Trimurtis, which is embodied in its entirety
in every human being, though in time it raises now one,
now another, of its three heads. Suicide stands in the
same relation to the denial of the will as the individual
thing does to the Idea. The suicide denies only the
individual, not the species. We have already seen that
as life is always assured to the will to live, and as sorrow
is inseparable from life, suicide, the wilful destruction of
the single phenomenal existence, is a vain and foolish
act ; for the thing-in-itself remains unaffected by it, even
as the rainbow endures however fast the drops which
support it for the moment may change. But, more than
this, it is also the masterpiece of Maya, as the most

5*6 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

flagrant example of the contradiction of the will to live
with itself. As we found this contradiction in the case
of the lowest manifestations of will, in the permanent
struggle of all the forces of nature, and of all organic
individuals for matter and time and space ; and as we
saw this antagonism come ever more to the front with
terrible distinctness in the ascending grades of the objec-
tification of the will, so at last in the highest grade, the
Idea of man, it reaches the point at which, not only the
individuals which express the same Idea extirpate each
other, but even the same individual declares war against
itself. The vehemence with which it wills life, and
revolts against what hinders it, namely, suffering, brings
it to the point of destroying itself ; so that the individual
will, by its own act, puts an end to that body which is
merely its particular visible expression, rather than
permit suffering to break the will Just because the
suicide cannot give up willing, he gives up living. The
will asserts itself here even in putting an end to its
own manifestation, because it can no longer assert itself
otherwise. As, however, it was just the suffering which
it so shuns that was able, as mortification of the
will, to bring it to the denial of itself, and hence to
freedom, so in this respect the suicide is like a sick
man, who, after a painful operation which would entirely
cure him has been begun, will not allow it to be
completed, but prefers to retain his disease. Suffering
approaches and reveals itself as the possibility of the
denial of will; but the will rejects it, in that it
destroys the body, the manifestation of itself, in order
that it may remain unbroken. This is the reason why
almost all ethical teachers, whether philosophical or re-
ligious, condemn suicide, although they themselves can
only give far-fetched sophistical reasons for their opinion.
But if a human being was ever restrained from commit-
ting suicide by purely moral motives, the inmost meaning
of this self-conquest (in whatever ideas his reason may

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 517

have clothed it) was this : " I will not shun suffering, in
order that it may help to put an end to the will to live,
whose manifestation is so wretched, by so strengthening
the knowledge of the real nature of the world which
is already beginning to dawn upon me, that it may
become the final quieter of my will, and may free me
for ever."

It is well known that from time to time cases occur
in which the act of suicide extends to the children.
The father first kills the children he loves, and then
himself. Now, if we consider that conscience, religion, E
and all influencing ideas teach him to look upon murder
as the greatest of crimes, and that, in spite of this, he
yet commits it, in the hour of his own death, and when
he is altogether uninfluenced by any egotistical motive,
such a deed can only be explained in the following
manner : in this case, the will of the individual, the
father, recognises itself immediately in the children,
though involved in the delusion of mistaking the ap-
pearance for the true nature ; and as he is at the same
time deeply impressed with the knowledge of the misery
of all life, he now thinks to put an end to the inner
nature itself, along with the appearance, and thus seeks
to deliver from existence and its misery both himself
and his children, in whom he discerns himself as living
again. It would be an error precisely analogous to
this to suppose that one may reach the same end as is
attained through voluntary chastity by frustrating the
aim of nature in fecundation ; or indeed if, in con-
sideration of the unendurable suffering of life, parents
were to use means for the destruction of their new-born
children, instead of doing everything possible to ensure ,
life to that which is struggling into it. For if the will |
to live is there, as it is the only metaphysical reality,
6T~the thing-in-itself, no physical force can break it,
but can only destroy its manifestation at this place and
time. It itself can never be transcended except through

518 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

knowledge. Thus the only way of salvation is, that
the will shall manifest itself unrestrictedly, in order that
in this individual manifestation it may come to appre-
hend its own nature. Only as the result of this know-
ledge can the will transcend itself, and thereby end the
suffering which is inseparable from its manifestation.
It is quite impossible to accomplish this end by physical
j force, as by destroying the germ, or by killing the new-
•born child, or by committing suicide. Nature guides
the will to the light, just because it is only in the light
that it can work out its salvation. Therefore the aims
of Nature are to be promoted in every way as soon as
the will to live, which is its inner being, has determined
itself.

There is a species of suicide which seems to be quite
distinct from the common kind, though its occurrence
has perhaps not yet been fully established. It is star-
vation, voluntarily chosen on the ground of extreme
asceticism. All instances of it, however, have been
accompanied and obscured by much religious fanaticism,
and even superstition. Yet it seems that the absolute
denial of will may reach the point at which the will
shall be wanting to take the necessary nourishment for
the support of the natural life. This kind of suicide
is so far from being the result of the will to live, that
such a completely resigned ascetic only ceases to live
because he has already altogether ceased to wilL No
other death than that by starvation is in this case con-
ceivable (unless it were the result of some special super-
stition) ; for the intention to cut short the torment would
itself be a stage in the assertion of will. The dogmas
which satisfy the reason of such a penitent delude him
with the idea that a being of a higher nature has inculcated
the fasting to which his own inner tendency drives him.
Old examples of this may be found in the " Breslauer
Sammlung von Natur- und Medicin-Geschichten," Sep-
tember 1799, p. 363 ; in Bayle's "Nouvelles de la R<$-

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 519

publique des Lettres," February 1685, p. 189 ; in Ziin-
mermann, " Ueber die Einsamkeit," vol. i. p. 1 8 2 ; in the
"Histoire de l'Academie des Sciences" for 1764, an
account by Houttuyn, which is quoted in the " Samm-
lung fur praktische Aerzte," vol. i. p. 69. More recent
accounts may be found in Hufeland's " Journal fur prak-
tische Heilkunde," vol. x. p. 181, and voL xlviii. p. 95 ;
also in Basse's " Zeitschrift ftir psychische Aerzte," 1 8 1 9,
part iii. p. 460; and in the "Edinburgh Medical and
Surgical Journal," 1809, vol. v. p. 319. In the year
1833 all the papers announced that the English his-
torian, Dr. Lingard, had died in January at Dover of
voluntary starvation ; according to later accounts, it was
not he himself, but a relation of his who died. Still in
these accounts the persons were generally described as
insane, and it is no longer possible to find out how far
this was the case. But I will give here a more recent
case of this kind, if it were only to ensure the preserva-
tion of one of the rare instances of this striking and
extraordinary phenomenon of human nature, which, to all
appearance at any rate, belongs to the category to which I
wish to assign it and could hardly be explained in any other
way. Thi3 case is reported in the " ISTiirnberger Corre-
spondenten " of the 29 th July 18 13, in these words: —
" We hear from Bern that in a thick wood near Thurnen
a hut has been discovered in which was lying the body of
a man who had been dead about a month. His clothes
gave little or no clue to his social position. Two very
fine shirts lay beside him. The most important article,
however, was a Bible interleaved with white paper, part
of which had been written upon by the deceased. In this
writing he gives the date of his departure from home (but
does not mention where his home was). He then says
that he was driven by the Spirit of God into the wilder-
ness to pray and fast. During his journey he had fasted
seven days and then he had again taken food. After this
he had begun again to fast, and continued to do so for

520 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

the same number of days as before. From this point we
find each day marked with a stroke, and of these there
are five, at the expiration of which the pilgrim presum-
ably died. There was further found a letter to a clergy-
man about a sermon which the deceased heard him preach,
but the letter was not addressed." Between this volun-
tary death arising from extreme asceticism and the common
suicide resulting from despair there may be various inter-
mediate species and combinations, though this is hard to
find out. But human nature has depths, obscurities, and
perplexities, the analysis and elucidation of which is a
matter of the very greatest difficulty.

§ 70. It might be supposed that the entire exposition
(now terminated) of that which I call the denial of the
will is irreconcilable with the earlier explanation of
necessity, which belongs just as much to motivation as to
every other form of the principle of sufficient reason, and
according to which, motives, like all causes, are only
occasional causes, upon which the character unfolds its
\ nature and reveals it with the necessity of a natural law,
I on account of which we absolutely denied freedom as
liberum arbitrium indiffercntice. But far from suppress-
ing this here, I would call it to mind. In truth, real
freedom, i.e., independence of the principle of sufficient
reason, belongs to the will only as a thing-in-itself, not
to its manifestation, whose essential form is everywhere
the principle of sufficient reason, the element or sphere
of necessity. But tiie one case in which that freedom
canjbecome directly visible in the manifestation is that
in wKich it makes an end of what manifests itself, and
because the mere manifestation, as a link in the chain of
causes, the living body in time, which contains only
phenomena, still continues to exist, the will which mani-
fests itself through this phenomenon then stands in con-
tradiction to it, for it denies what the phenomenon
/ expresses. In such a case the organs of generation, for
example, as the visible form of the sexual impulse, are

\S

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 521

there and in health ; but yet, in the inmost conscious-
ness, no sensual gratification is desired ; and although the
whole body is only the visible expression of the will to
live, yet the motives which correspond to this will no
longer act ; indeed, the dissolution of the body, the end
of the individual, and in this way the greatest check to
the natural will, is welcome and desired. Now, the con-
tradiction between our assertions of the necessity of the
determination of the will by motives, in accordance with
the character, on the one hand, and of the possibility of
the entire suppression of the will whereby the motives
become powerless, on the other hand, is only the repe-/
tition in the reflection of philosophy of this real contra- j
diction which arises from the direct encroachment of
the freedom of the will-in-itself, which knows no
necessity, into the sphere of the necessity of its
manifestation. But the key to the solution of these
contradictions lies in the fact that the state in which
the character is withdrawn from the power of motives
does not proceed directly from the will, but from a
changed form of knowledge. So long as the knowledge
is merely that which is involved in the principium
individuationis and exclusively follows the principle of
sufficient reason, the strength of the motives is irresistible.
But when the principium individuationis is seen through,
when the Ideas, and indeed the inner nature of the thing-
in-itself, as the same will in all, are directly recognised,
and from this knowledge an universal quieter of volition
arises, then the particular motives become ineffective,
because the kind of knowledge which corresponds to them
is obscured and thrown into the background by quite
another kind. Therefore the character can never partially
change, but must, with the consistency of a law of
Nature, carry out in the particular the will which it
manifests as a whole. But this whole, the character
itself, may be completely suppressed or abolished through
the change of knowledge referred to above. It is this

,s

522 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

suppression or abolition which Asmus, as quoted above,
marvels at and denotes the "catholic, transcendental
change ; " and in the Christian Church it has very aptly
been called the new birth, and the knowledge from which
it springs, the work of grace. Therefore it is not a
question of a change, but of an entire suppression of the
character; and hence it arises that, however different
the characters which experience the suppression may
have been before it, after it they show a great similarity
in their conduct, though every one still speaks very
differently according to his conceptions and dogmas.

In this sense, then, the old philosophical doctrine of
the freedom of the will, which has constantly been con-
tested and constantly maintained, is not without ground,
and the dogma of the Church of the work of grace and
the new birth is not without meaning and significance.
But we now unexpectedly see both united in one, and
we can also now understand in what sense the excellent
Malebranche could say, "La liberty est un mystere" and
was right. For precisely what the Christian mystics
call the work of grace and the new birth, is for us the
single direct expression of the freedom of the will. It
only appears if the will, having attained to a knowledge
of its own real nature, receives from this a quieter, by
means of which the motives are deprived of their effect,
which belongs to the province of another kind of know-
ledge, the objects of which are merely phenomena. The
possibility of the freedom which thus expresses itself is
the greatest prerogative of man, which is for ever wanting
to the brute, because the condition of it is the delibera-
tion of reason, which enables him to survey the whole of
life independent of the impression of the present The
brute is entirely without the possibility of freedom, as,
indeed, it is without the possibility of a proper or de-
liberate choice following upon a completed conflict of
motives, which for this purpose would have to be abstract
ideas. Therefore with the same necessity with which

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 523

the stone falls to the earth, the hungry wolf buries its
fangs in the flesh of its prey, without the possibility of
the knowledge that it is itself the destroyed as well as
the destroyer. Necessity is the kingdom of nature ; freedom \
is the kingdom of grace.

Now because, as we have seen, that self-suppression of
the mill proceeds from knowledge, and all knowledge is
involuntary, that denial of will also, that entrance into
freedom, cannot be forcibly attained to by intention or
design, but proceeds from the inmost relation of knowing
and volition in the man, and therefore comes suddenly,
as if spontaneously from without. This is why the
Church has called it the worh of grace ; and that it still
regards it as independent of the acceptance of grace
corresponds to the fact that the effect of the quieter is
finally a free act of will. And because, in consequence
of such a work of grace, the whole nature of man is
changed and reversed from its foundation, so that he no
longer wills anything of all that he previously willed so
intensely, so that it is as if a new man actually took
the place of the old, the Church has called this conse-
quence of the work of grace the new birth. For what it
calls the natural man, to which it denies all capacity for
good, is just the will to live, which must be denied if
deliverance from an existence such as ours is to be
attained. Behind our existence lies something else,
which is only accessible to us if we have shaken off this
world.

Having regard, not to the individuals according to the
principle of sufficient reason, but to the Idea of man in
its unity, Christian theology symbolises nature, the asser-
tion of the will to live in Adam, whose sin, inherited by
us, i.e., our unity with him in the Idea, which is repre-
sented in time by the bond of procreation, makes us all
partakers of suffering and eternal death. On the other j
hand, it symbolises grace, the denial of the will, salvation, j
in the incarnate God, who, as free from all sin, that is,'

524 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. iv.

from all willing of life, cannot, like us, have proceeded
from the most pronounced assertion of the will, nor can
he, like us, have a body which is through and through
simply concrete will, manifestation of the will ; but born
of a pure virgin, he has only a phantom body. This last
is the doctrine of the Docetse, i.e., certain Church Fathers,
who in this respect are very consistent. It is especially
taught by Apelles, against whom and his followers Ter-
tullian wrote. But even Augustine comments thus on
the passage, Horn. viii. 3, " God sent his Son in the like-
ness of sinful flesh : " " Non enim caro peccati erat, qua
non de carnali delectatione nata erat : sed tamen inerat ex
similitudo carnis peccati, quia mortalis caro erat" (Liber 83,
qucest. qu. 66). He also teaches in his work entitled
" Opus Imperfectum" i. 47, that inherited sin is both sin
and punishment at once. It is already present in new-
born children, but only shows itself if they grow up. Yet
the origin of this sin is to be referred to the will of the
sinner. This sinner was Adam, but we all existed in
him ; Adam became miserable, and in him we have all
become miserable. Certainly the doctrine of original sin
(assertion of the will) and of salvation (denial of the will)
is the great truth which constitutes the essence of Chris-
tianity, while most of what remains is only the clothing
of it, the husk or accessories. Therefore Jesus Christ
ought always to be conceived in the universal, as the
symbol or personification of the denial of the will to live,
but never as an individual, whether according to his
mythical history given in the Gospels, or according to the
probably true history which lies at the foundation of this.
For neither the one nor the other will easily satisfy us
entirely. It is merely the vehicle of that conception for
the people, who always demand something actual. That
in recent times Christianity has forgotten its true signifi-
cance, and degenerated into dull optimism, does not con-
cern us here.

It is further an original and evangelical doctrine of

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 525

Christianity — which Augustine, with the consent of the f:
leaders of the Church, defended against the platitudes of
the Pelagians, and which it was the principal aim of
Luther's endeavour to purify from error and re-establish,
as he expressly declares in his book, " Be Servo Arbitrio"
— the doctrine that the will is not free, but originally
subject to the inclination to evil. Therefore according to
this doctrine the deeds of the will are always sinful and
imperfect, and can never fully satisfy justice ; and, finally,
these works can never save us, but faith alone, a faith
which itself does not spring from resolution and free will,
but from the work of grace, without our co-operation,
comes to us as from without.

Not only the dogmas referred to before, but also this
last genuine evangelical dogma belongs to those which
at the present day an ignorant and dull opinion rejects
as absurd or hides. For, in spite of Augustine and
Luther, it adheres to the vulgar Pelagianism, which the j* '
rationalism of the day really is, and treats as antiquated ;
those deeply significant dogmas which are peculiar and
essential to Christianity in the strictest sense; while,
on the other hand, it holds fast and regards as the
principal matter only the dogma that originates in
Judaism, and has been retained from it, and is merely
historically connected with Christianity.1 We, however,

1 How truly this is the case the day, on the contrary, many doc-
may be seen from the fact that all trines of the Augustinian dogmatics,
the contradictions and inconceiv- founded on the New Testament,
abilities contained in the Christian appear quite untenable, and indeed
dogmatics, consistently systematised revolting ; for example, predestina-
by Augustine, which have led to the tion. Accordingly Christianity
Pelagian insipidity which is opposed proper is rejected, and a return is
to them, vanish as soon as we ab- made to crude Judaism. But the
stract from the fundamental Jewish miscalculation or the original weak-
dogma, and recognise that man is ness of Christian dogmatics lies —
not the work of another, but of his where it is never sought — precisely
own will. Then all is at once clear in that which is withdrawn from all
and correct : then there is no need investigation as established and cer-
of freedom in the operari, for it lies tain. Take this away and the
in the esse ; and there also lies the whole of dogmatics is rational ; for
sin as original sin. The work this dogma destroys theology as
of grace is, however, our own. To it does all the other sciences. If
the rationalistic point of view of any one studies the Augustinian

526

THE WORLD AS WILL.

BK. IV.

recognise in the doctrine referred to above the truth
completely agreeing with the result of our own inves-
tigations. We see that true virtue and holiness of
disposition have their origin not in deliberate choice
(works), but in knowledge (faith) ; just as we have in
like manner developed it from our leading thought
If it were works, which spring from motives and de-
liberate intention, that led to salvation, then, however
one may turn it, virtue would always be a prudent,
methodical, far-seeing egoism. But the faith to which
the Christian Church promises salvation is this : that
as through the fall of the first man we are all par-
takers of sin and subject to death and perdition,
through the divine substitute, through grace and the
taking upon himself of our fearful guilt, we are all
saved, without any merit of our own (of the person) ;
since that which can proceed from the intentional
(determined by motives) action of the person, works,
can never justify us, from its very nature, just because
it is intentional, action induced by motives, opus opera-
turn. Thus in this faith there is implied, first of all,

theology in the books " Dc Civitate
Dei " (especially in the Fourteenth
Book), he experiences something
analogous to the feeling of one
who tries to make a body stand
whose centre of gravity falls out-
side it ; however he may turn it
and place it, it always tumbles over
again. So here, in spite of all the
efforts and sophisms of Augustine,
the guilt and misery of the world
always falls back on God, who
made everything and everything
that is in everything, and also
knew how all things would go.
That Augustine himself was con-
scious of the difficulty, and puzzled
by it, I have already shown in my
prize-essay on the Freedom of the
Will (ch. iv. pp. 66-08 of the first
and second editions). In the same
way, the contradiction between the
goodness of God and the misery of
the world, and also between the

freedom of the will and the fore-
knowledge of God, is the inex-
haustible theme of a controversy
which lasted nearly a hundred
years between the Cartesians, Male-
branche, Leibnitz, Bayle, Clarke,
Arnauld, and many others. The
only dogma which was regarded as
fixed by all parties was the ex-
istence and attributes of God, and
they all unceasingly move in a
circle, because they seek to bring
these things into harmony, i.«., to
solve a sum that will not come
right, but always shows a remainder
at some new place whenever we
have concealed it elsewhere. But
it does not occur to any one to seek
for the source of the difficulty in
the fundamental assumption, al-
though it palpably obtrudes itself.
Bayle alone shows that he saw
this.

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 527

that our condition is originally and essentially an incur-
able one, from which we need salvation ; then, that we
ourselves essentially belong to evil, and are so firmly
bound to it that our works according to law and precept,
i.e., according to motives, can never satisfy justice nor
save us; but salvation is only obtained through faith,
i.e.t through a changed mode of knowing, and this faith
can only come through grace, thus as from without.
This means that the salvation is one which is quite
foreign to our person, and points to a denial and surrender
of this person necessary to salvation. Works, the result
of the law as such, can never justify, because they are
always action following upon motives. Luther demands
(in his book " Be Libertate Christiana ") that after the
entrance of faith the good works shall proceed from it
entirely of themselves, as symptoms, as fruits of it ; yet
by no means as constituting in themselves a claim to
merit, justification, or reward, but taking place quite
voluntarily and gratuitously. So we also hold that from
the ever- clearer penetration of the principium indivi-
duationis proceeds, first, merely free justice, then love,
extending to the complete abolition of egoism, and finally
resignation or denial of the will.

I have here introduced these dogmas of Christian
theology, which in themselves are foreign to philosophy,
merely for the purpose of showing that the ethical doc-
trine which proceeds from our whole investigation, and
is in complete agreement and connection with all its
parts, although new and unprecedented in its expression,
is by no means so in its real nature, but fully agrees
with the Christian dogmas properly so called, and indeed,
as regards its essence, was contained and present in
them. It also agrees quite as accurately with the doc-
trines and ethical teachings of the sacred books of India,
which in their turn are presented in quite different forms.
At the same time the calling to mind of the dogmas
of the Christian Church serves to explain and illustrate

528 THE WORLD AS WILL. BK. iv.

the apparent contradiction between the necessity of all
expressions of character when motives are presented
(the kingdom of Nature) on the one hand, and the free-
dom of the will in itself, to deny itself, and abolish the
character with all the necessity of the motives based
upon it (the kingdom of grace) on the other hand.

S 71. I now end the general account of ethics, and
with it the whole development of that one thought which
it has been my object to impart ; and I by no means
desire to conceal here an objection which concerns this
last part of my exposition, but rather to point out that
it lies in the nature of the question, and that it is quite
impossible to remove it. It is this, that after our inves-
tigation has brought us to the point at which we have
I before our eyes perfect holiness, the denial and surrender
of all volition, and thus the deliverance from a world
whose whole existence we have found to be suffering, this
appears to us as a passing away into empty nothingness.
On this I must first remark, that the__go.n flfiption of
nofrhing is pssp.ntin.lly relative, and always refers to ft.
definite something which it negatives. This quality has
been attributed (by Kant) merely to the nihil privativum,
which is indicated by — as opposed to -f, which — ,
from an opposite point of view, might become +, and in
opposition to this nihil privativum the nihil negativum
has been set up, which would in every reference be
nothing, and as an example of this the logical contradic-
I tion which does away with itself has been given. But
' more closely considered, jj,o absolute nothing, no proper
/ nihil negativum is even thinkable ; but everything of this
kind, when considered from a higher standpoint or sub-
sumed under a wider concept, is always merely a nihil
privativum. Every nothing is thought as such only in
TVJMJ2JI to «™^P.t.hingf and presupposes this relation, and
thus alsfl_-thi& something. Even a logical contradiction
is onlyarelative nothing. It is no thought of the
reason, but it is not on that account an absolute nothing ;

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 529

for it is a combination of words ; it is an example of the
unthinkable, which is necessary in logic in order to prove
the laws of thought. Therefore if for this end such an
example is sought, we will stick to the nonsense as the
positive which we are in search of, and pass over the
sense as the negative. Thus every nihil negativum, if
subordinated to a higher concept, will appear as a mere
nihil privativum or relative nothing, which can, moreover,
always exchange signs wTith what it negatives, so that
that would then be thought as negation, and it itself as
assertion. This also agrees with the result of the difficult
dialectical investigation of the meaning of nothing which
Plato gives in the "Sophist" (pp. 277-287): IV tov
krepov <pvcriv a7ro$cij~avTes ovaav tc, Kai KaTaK€Kepju.aTio--
jULevtjv eiri iravra ra ovTa irpos aXX^Xa, to irpo9 to ov
eKacrTov fiopiov avTtjs avTLTiOejuLevov, eToX/uLtja-a/JLeu eiweiv,
o>9 avro tovto ecrTLv ovTcos to fir] ov {Cum enim ostendere-
mus, alterius ipsius naturam esse per que omnia entia divi-
sam atque dispersam in vicem ; tunc partem ejus oppositam
ei, quod cujusque ens est, esse ipsum revera nan ens asse-
ruimus).

That which is generally received as positive, which we
call the real, and the negation of which the concept no-
thing in its most general significance expresses, is just
the world as idea, which I have shown to be the objec-
tivity and mirror of the will. Moreover, we ourselves
are just this will and this world, and to them belongs the
idea in general, as one aspect of them. The form of the
idea is space and time, therefore for this point of view all
that is real must be in some place and at some time.
Denial, abolition, conversion of_the will, is also the_aboJi-

tjnn and fo.ft Wishing Of fh* world, it&„,mirrnrr If we

no longer perceive it in this mirror, we ask in vain
where it has gone, and then, because it has no longer any
where and when, complain that it has vanished into
nothing.

A reversed point of view, if it were possible for us,
vol. I. 2 L

530 THE WORLD AS WILL. bk. IV.

would reverse the signs and show the real for us as no-
thing, and that nothing as the real. But as long as we
ourselves are the will to live, this last — nothing as the
real — can only be known and signified by us negatively,
because the old saying of Empedocles, that like can only
be known by like, deprives us here of all knowledge, as,
conversely, upon it finally rests the possibility of all our
actual knowledge, i.e., the world as idea ; for the world
is the self-knowledge of the will.

If, however, it should be absolutely insisted upon that
in some way or other a positive knowledge should be
attained of that which philosophy can only express nega-
tively as the denial of the will, there would be nothing
for it but to refer to that state which all those who have
attained to complete denial of the will have experienced,
and which has been variously denoted by the names
ecstasy, rapture, illumination, union with God, and so
forth ; a state, however, which cannot properly be called
knowledge, because it has not the form of subject and
object, and is, moreover, only attainable in one's own
experience and cannot be further communicated.

We, however, who consistently occupy the standpoint
of philosophy, must be satisfied here with negative know-
ledge, content to have reached the utmost limit of the
positive. We have recognised the inmost nature of the
world as will, and all its phenomena as only the objec-
tivity of will ; and we have followed this objectivity from
the unconscious working of obscure forces of Nature up to
the completely conscious action of man. Therefore we
shall by no means evade the consequence, that with the
free denial, the surrender of the will, all those phenomena
are also abolished ; that constant strain and effort without
end and without rest at all the grades of objectivity, in
which and through which the world consists ; the multi-
farious forms succeeding each other in gradation; the
whole manifestation of the will; and, finally, also the
universal forms of this manifestation, time and space, and

THE ASSERTION AND DENIAL OF THE WILL. 531

also its last fundamental form, subject and object ; all are
abolished. No will : no idea, no world.

Before us there is certainly only nothingness. But
that which resists this pasjim^mto nothing^our nature,
is indeed just the will to live, which we ourselves are as
it is our world. That we abhor annihilation so greatly,
is simply another expression of the fact that we so strenu-
ously will life, and are nothing but this will, and know
nothing besides it But if we turn our glance from our
own needy and embarrassed condition to those who have
overcome the world, in whom the will, having attained to
perfect self-knowledge, found itself again in all, and
then freely denied itself, and who then merely wait to
see the last trace of it vanish with the body which it
animates ; then, instead of the restless striving and effort,
instead of the constant transition from wish to fruition,
and from joy to sorrow, instead of the never-satisfied and
never-dying hope which constitutes the life of the man
who wills, we shall see that peace which is above all
reason, that perfect calm of the spirit, that deep rest,
that inviolable confidence and serenity, the mere reflec-
tion of which in the countenance, as Baphael and Cor-
reggio have represented it, is an entire and certain gospel ;
only knowledge remains, the will has vanished. We look
with deep and painful longing upon this state, beside
which the misery and wretchedness of our own is brought
out clearly by the contrast. Yet this is the only con-
sideration which can afford us lasting consolation, when,
on the one hand, we have recognised incurable suffering
and endlessjnisjery^a£j^sgnti n.1 to the^naEdfes"taSc~nlpf
will, the world ; and, on the other hand, see the world
pass away with the abolition of will, and retain before us
only empty nothingness. Thus, in this way, by contem-
plation of the life and conduct of saints, whom it is
certainly rarely granted us to meet with in our own ex-
perience, but who are brought before our eyes by their
written history, and, with the stamp of inner truth, by

532

THE WORLD AS WILL.

BK. IV.

art, we must banish the dark impression of that nothing-
ness which we discern behind all virtue and holiness as
their final goal, and which we fear as children fear the
dark ; we must not even evade it like the Indians, through
myths and meaningless words, such as reabsorption in
Brahma or the Nirvana of the Buddhists. Rather do we
freely acknowledge that what remains after the entire
abolition of will is for all those who are still full of will
certainly nothing ; but, conversely, to those in whom the
will has turned and has denied itself, this our world, which
is so real, with all its suns and milky-ways — is nothing.1

1 This is also just the Prajna- are no more. (Cf. J. J. Schmidt,

Paramita of the Buddhists, the "Ueber das Mahajana und Prat-

"beyond all knowledge," i.e., the schna-Paramita.")
point at which subject and object

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:

:
i

:

:
;
;

i

;

;
!